Select Few
by GreenWithAwesome
Summary: Before the Selection, and the spy, Prince Roy's life involved a series of events and a cast of colourful characters... but only select few would impact his future. Companion story to The Selection and the Spy. This chapter: Sherlock plays hockey and spits puns.
1. Rudy I

There was one thing Rudy was certain of: Prince Roy, heir to the throne of Illéa, was a spoilt ass.

Firmly planted in the armchair in the Chateau Drawing Room, the cherry upholstery and dark ebony wood matching his navy pinstripe suit – too big for his tiny frame, the boy prince punched his tiny fists against the satin. "Yiggle!" he yelled. "Yiggle!"

Rudy turned back around and slapped the wet cloth against the lower window, pressing against the glass. The scent of bleach and bubbles was nearly overwhelming, but, thank the _lord_ , he'd take his mere janitorial duties over valet or butler any day.

With the door open in the hallway, it was hard to ignore Roy's incessant shrills. The boy had never known hardship in his life. Of course, at twelve, he was still knee-deep into his last years as a blissfully ignorant child, but it was still no excuse to act as if the world revolved around him.

Rudy dipped the cloth back in the soapy solution, and then pressed it against the glass again, rubbing fingerprint marks away with lengthy swipes. Rudy's father had always taught him that the royal family, King Merrick and Queen Ji-Yu, were good people – and for what he had seen for the six months he'd been on the job, he believed it.

Just their son was devil spawn.

"Yiggle!" Roy squealed again. "Hurry up!"

Rudy clamped his mouth shut. His sharp commentary had got him in trouble at school before, and he wasn't about to get a criminal record for telling a prince to shut up.

Bounding footsteps drew Rudy's attention – Yiggle, dressed in his wrinkleless butler uniform, scampered down the corridor. A tray with a silver cloche wobbled on top of his gloved hands, and sweat careened down his rotund face.

He nodded at Rudy. "Afternoon, Rudy."

Rudy didn't bother replying – as soon as Yiggle rounded the door into the drawing room, Roy screamed.

"Took your time! I've been waiting a whole fifteen minutes! That's fifteen minutes more than I wanted to wait!"

Yiggle choked out. "I'm sorry, Your Highness." His voice was nearly as high-pitched as Roy's, splintered with laboured breaths. "It does take a while for cupcakes to bake."

Rudy glanced over his shoulder at the scene. Yiggle plucked the cloche from the tray, and steam fountained up in a plume of white smoke. Immediately, Rudy could scent the delicious smell of carrot cupcakes, fresh from the oven, and cream cheese icing oozing over the surface in generous waves. His mouth watered, which only reminded him that, thankfully, his lunch break was soon. No more of Roy's shouting.

Roy yanked a cupcake from the tray and shoved half of it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, deliberately, scrutinising the taste with his tongue and open mouth. No doubt, he never had such manners at the dinner table, when his mother and father were present.

Then, he grimaced. Hard.

"Are there walnuts in these?"

Yiggle baulked. "Er, yes, Your Highness."

Roy jumped from his armchair and stomped the ground. "I hate walnuts in my carrot cupcakes!"

Yiggle would never have known that. He'd only been here for a week.

Still, the butler yanked at his collar, which wrapped around his large neck. "O-Oh, my apologies, Your Highness—"

Roy dropped the half-eaten cupcake onto the tray and crossed his arms. "Go make me another batch! No walnuts!"

"O-Of course!"

Yiggle scrambled out, not even acknowledging Rudy's sympathetic frown. Rudy watched him disappear around the corner again – probably back to the kitchens, to the chefs, who would inevitably have to remake another batter from scratch. If Roy couldn't wait fifteen minutes, he hated the idea of being around him for however long these cakes took to make and bake.

Returning to his duties, Rudy sloshed the wet cloth against the glass. The liquid mixture dribbled down his fingers, onto his loose shirt, an understated pale-blue, and matching trousers. The Schreave insignia was embroidered on his lapel, and it was hard, almost painful, to think that Roy was going to represent it one day.

Rudy heard footsteps, coming from the drawing room. He became laser focused on his window-washing duty, holding his breath.

 _Please_ , he begged whatever deity looked over him – if any at all, _please don't let him notice me_.

"Pssst, you," Roy said.

Rudy paused. Maybe he wasn't talking to him.

Rudy flickered his glance left and right. Unfortunately, there was no one else in the hallway. He'd managed to avoid deigning to speak with this particular royal, but now it seemed unavoidable. He grounded his teeth together, pinched his most effable smile, and turned, standing from his crouch.

"How may I help you, Your Highness?"

Prince Roy was not as tall as one would expect a twelve-year-old boy to be, only coming up to Rudy's waist (then again, Rudy knew he was ridiculously tall for his age). His hair, finely chopped to his ear, looked like it had been run through with a rake. It was a dark brown, but a shade lighter than his eyes – which were wide-set, and stark against his tanned skin. He definitely looked like his mother, with his New Asian features, but there was a hint of the King Merrick, too, in face-shape.

He had his arms crossed, his head tilted to stare Rudy right in his eyes. The kid had guts, Rudy could give him that.

"When will Yiggle return?" There was no faulting his upper-class accent, either – every _t_ pronounced.

Rudy clenched the wet cloth in his hand, maintaining his pristinely faux smile. "I'm sure he will return here soon, Your Highness."

"Go tell him to hurry up," Roy commanded, pointing down the corridor. "I'm hungry."

 _You're hungry 24-7_ , Rudy wanted to snap. Instead, he widened the insufferable smile and bowed his head. "Of course."

Slowly he turned, to pack his things away, dropping the cloth into the bucket. But Roy growled, "Hurry up!"

Rudy glanced at him over his shoulder. "I need to pack my things first, Your Highness. It wouldn't bode well to leave safety hazards in the corridors for people to trip on."

He stomped his foot again, with enough force to loosen his shoelaces. "Ugh," Roy said. "You're too slow! I'll go myself!"

He made to hightail it down the corridor, swerving on his squeaky loafers, thrusting into a sprint.

Then he tripped over his shoelaces.

Roy squealed, slammed into the ground and grated his face onto the patterned carpet.

Rudy's mouth dropped open. The prince… just _fell over_.

What the heck did he do now?!

He scrambled through his mind. Before janitorial duties, his priority was to help the royals in any way possible, especially when they were in distress. Tripping on one's shoelaces was distressing… right?

He gauged the moment, hovering awkwardly between Roy's crumpled body and the abandoned bucket and cloth. "Er… are you all right, Your Highness…?"

Roy rolled to sit, cradling his knee. His face had mottled a deep red – nearly as red as Rudy's short ponytail, swept back – and he pulled up his trouser leg to reveal a tiny patch of swelling skin below his kneecap.

" _Ow_ ," he said, as if offended by the carpet.

Rudy stifled his amusement. He'd never heard a sarcastic word from the prince in his life. He'd thought him too above all that. Warily, he approached Roy with his hands suspended over him, ready to help him up.

"Do you need help, Your Highness?"

Roy glared at him for a moment, yanking down his trouser leg. "I'm the prince," he said, as if that clarified the situation – Rudy had to take that as a _no_. He wobbled to stand without Rudy's help, peering down at his loose shoelaces. "I hate shoelaces…"

Rudy resisted rolling his eyes, and murmured, loud enough for Roy to hear, "Would you prefer Velcro?"

Pause. Rudy realised what he'd said. _Oh, dear lord_ , he thought to himself, the realisation sinking into him like saltwater, _I just snarked back to the prince_.

Roy, however, didn't seem to detect the undercurrent of sarcasm. He blinked, huffing. "I _would_ ," he said. " _Omma_ says that Velcro isn't becoming of a prince. And I'm the prince. So I can't wear Velcro."

Velcro shoes weren't becoming of anyone over the age of five, but Rudy didn't dare say that. He inspected the loose shoelaces with dubiousness, but met Roy's gaze. "Do you need me to fetch someone?"

Roy pouted. "I want my cupcakes. I want Yiggle."

"I'm afraid," Rudy said, withholding his rising annoyance, "that Yiggle will be occupied until the cupcakes are finished, Your Highness. And that could take quite some time."

Roy looked back down at his shoes, then back at Rudy. "Fine. I'll wait. But tie my shoelaces in the meantime."

Rudy blanched. The prince was _twelve_. "You can't tie them yourself?"

He realised this sounded way too informal, but Roy, again, didn't question it, flicking his head to search the corridors for unwarranted ears.

"No. I can't. Every time I try, I mess up."

Rudy sighed, crouching to his knees and taking each thin shoelace in his hands. "It's not that hard. I can show you." He brandished each lace, with which Roy fixated his nervous gaze. "First, tie them both together loosely, like so" – he demonstrated, weaving one strand with the other, and tightening – "and then, you make a loop with one shoelace, wrap the other around it, tuck it under, and pull."

He showed Roy, and the shoelaces tied into one, forming a neat bow. Rudy tugged them further, to make the loose ends shorter, the loops longer. He glanced up at Roy.

Roy's eyes twinkled with awe and embarrassment, all at once. He probably knew how shameful it was, not knowing how to tie his own shoelaces.

"Do you see?" Rudy said, feeling a trickle of pity for Roy amongst the annoyance. Carefully, he pulled his other shoelace, freeing the strands. "Now, you try."

Roy sat down on the carpet, his long fingers fumbling with the strands. "I can't do it."

There was such a humiliation in his voice, a vulnerability, that Rudy sat on the carpet floor, too. He raised a smile – genuine, this time. "Of course you can. You're a prince."

Roy's bottom lip upturned, but he nodded. "I am _the_ prince."

"And I am the _janitor_ ," said Rudy. "So if I can do it, so can you."

Raising the differences in their castes probably wasn't the best way to address the point, but it seemed to work. Rudy quickly ran through the steps again, Roy copying his work once more. He lit like a firework when his knots were successful, and his shoelaces bowed neatly on his loafer.

"I did it!" he said. "I tied my shoelaces!"

Rudy smiled. "Good job, Your Highness."

Roy pounded his chest with a fist. "I knew I could do it. I'm the prince."

Rudy rolled his eyes. "Sure." He came to stand, offering Roy a hand up. This time, Roy took it, proudly stepping around the corridor with his newly-tied shoes, pointing his feet out from beneath his pooling trousers. Rudy's attempt was obviously much more polished than Roy's, but still, he'd done it, and Rudy wasn't about to rain on the princes' parade.

A figure whisked around the corner then – Rudy was about to loose a breath at Yiggle's early appearance, but it wasn't the valet that appeared around the corner.

It was King Merrick.

He was tall, the king – much taller than Rudy. His blonde hair, shining with sweat, was neatly combed with a side parting, and his suit crisp around his lanky frame. Youth was escaping him, and the first wrinkles from age contoured his cheeks and forehead, but it didn't stop the storming green of his eyes from procuring intimidation in Rudy.

Rudy blanched, hesitating to do anything accept shiver through a weak bow. Roy pranced about, as if his dad didn't intimidate him at all. He lifted his shoes and brandished his neat shoelaces.

"Look, _Appa!_ " he said. "I tied my shoelaces all by myself!"

King Merrick's storm-sieged gaze didn't wilt. "What's this I hear about you ordering Yiggle about?"

Roy froze. "Erm… I wanted cupcakes."

Merrick crossed his arms. "That doesn't give you the right to act cruel, son." He flickered his gaze at Rudy – suddenly, a sweet smile captured him. "Ah! Rudy, how are you? Rudy Bez—… Rudy Bezui—…"

Merrick was always very pleasant to Rudy, but Rudy still found himself shrink when either Merrick or Queen Ji-Yu appeared. Knowing that both were pals with his dad didn't instil him with any hope. They made a powerful pair of friends – and whatever Rudy's dad had over them, it was enough to secure Rudy a place in whatever position he liked. He'd chosen janitorial so he could manage school, but he definitely didn't want to do it forever.

Still, at least Merrick remembered the first two syllables from his surname, which was more that could be said of literally anyone else. He gulped. "Rudy is just fine, Your Majesty, thank you. I'm well."

Merrick laughed. "Ah, good. I'm so sorry. I can never remember your surname."

"That makes two of us, sire," Rudy said, and Merrick chuckled.

" _Appa_ ," Roy demanded. "My shoelaces!"

Merrick took on that fatherly pout, and crossed his arms. "You're going to find Yiggle before he leaves today and apologise. Is that clear, son?"

Rudy couldn't help himself. "Yiggle is leaving?"

"Yes," said Merrick. He sighed. "That's the third valet this month." He paused. "This little one keeps annoying all of them away."

Roy's bottom lip upturned. "I only wanted cupcakes."

Merrick fixed him with a stern look. "You may want cupcakes, but the world doesn't revolve around you. You have to consider other people's feelings – even if you are _the prince_."

Roy's glare didn't relent. "Not fair! How come _Gail_ gets to demand things and I don't?!"

Merrick frowned. "Gail is _two_." He paused. "Do I need to have _Omma_ come down here and talk to you?"

Roy seemed to soak this in – that his baby sister was obviously too young to understand the concept of _ordering people around_. Could Gail even _talk_ properly? Eventually, Roy's glare withered under Merrick, and, defeated and deflated, he crossed his arms and crossed gaze to the carpet. "No, _Appa_. I'll apologise."

"Do you see what you did wrong?"

Roy puffed his cheeks, and a light flush swept over him. "I was… bad. Yiggle doesn't deserve it."

Merrick brightened, and ruffled Roy's hair. "There's my boy."

Rudy spied his bucket and cloth, too far away for him to just shuffle back to and restart his cleaning regime. He didn't want to be present for more father-son life-lesson sharing.

Roy suddenly brightened, a grin smothering his previous discontent. He lifted his leg to show off his shoelaces again. "Do you like my shoelaces, _Appa?_ "

Merrick truly appreciated it now, crouching slightly and smiling. "Yes, they're very well done. Did you do that all by yourself?"

"All by myself."

Rudy's eye twitched. Wretched kid.

Merrick, luckily, seemed to find this sceptical as well. "That's funny, since Rudy is here also, and I can't help but notice that one of your shoelaces is immaculate compared to the other."

"… The other one got tired."

Merrick chuckled, but turned to Rudy nonetheless. "Thank you, Rudy."

Rudy dipped his head. "No trouble at all, Your Highness."

"AH!" Roy suddenly yelled.

"Son," Merrick chided gently. "We don't _yell_ in the palace."

"Sorry _Appa_ , but I had a eureka!" Roy jumped up and down, loosening his shoelaces, pointing at Rudy. "Rudy can be my valet!"

A void sucked Rudy's emotions straight from his body and into the deep pits of hell. _Dear lord, no_. He helped the boy with his shoelaces and suddenly they were best friends?! Rudy threw up his hands in a surrendering position and shook his head.

"Ahah, I'm flattered, Your Highness," he stammered out, "but I doubt I would be a good fit for the job."

But Merrick had a different reaction – he brightened like a morning star. "Nonsense!" he chirruped. "I've heard nothing but glowing reviews about you, Rudy! Not to mention _butler_ runs in your blood. The pay is _excellent_ , I hear." He laughed to himself. "Your father was a butler of mine, and now his son being my son's valet… what an amusing turn of events!"

Rudy gulped. This couldn't be happening.

"I… have school, on weekdays."

"How about part-time?" Merrick suggested. "We've never had a part-time valet before."

 _Part-time valet?_ Was that even a thing? Who would take care of Roy when Rudy was away? How could Rudy manage running errands for a little kid's cupcakes demands, school, homework, and an already-failing social life?

"Er…" he ended up mumbling, too nonplussed to say anything else.

Roy had other ideas. He growled, "Part-time?!"

Merrick pursed his lips. "Yes. Given your track record, son, I don't think you quite deserve another _full_ -time valet until you prove you won't take advantage of them."

Roy pouted. "I won't! I've turned over a new leaf!"

Rudy wanted to make a sarcastic comment, but held his tongue.

Merrick, instead, provided Roy with a doubtful stare. "When you prove it, Roy, then we can talk about full-time valet for you." He looked to Rudy with a smile. "You don't have to accept now, of course, and we'd have to go through some paperwork, but I think you'd be wonderful for the job. What do you say?"

Rudy weighed his options. If the pay was as great as Merrick said it would be, Rudy could move out from his dad and find a nice apartment in Los Angeles for himself in no time, when he hit eighteen in a few months' time. Living the true city life, instead of a flimsy cottage forty minutes away from any real civilisation.

Rudy nearly laughed out loud. It wasn't as if he was going to take the job _full_ -time, and be Roy's valet until Roy inevitably had his _own_ Selection. He could quit next week, if things became too much. Rudy didn't have any plans for his future so far, and working for the palace could surely open a lot of doors into any area of career.

All he had to do was ferry food to the prince. If Roy had truly 'turned over a new leaf', maybe there was a scope for being a good prince, and a good king, somewhere within. For few fleeting moments, Roy seemed like… a _nice_ boy – wrapped in a thin layer of vanity, of course, but kind enough not to make Rudy want to fear for the country.

Despite his initial thoughts on Prince Roy, despite everything he'd heard until this moment, Rudy spoke.

"I'd be honoured, Your Majesty, Your Highness, to serve."

* * *

 **A/N:** Aaaand that's how Rudy clinched his valet job at the palace! By... tying Roy's shoelaces...

So here is the first chapter of Select Few! It is a companion story to the Selection and the Spy, meant to provide short insights into the other characters' lives. There's no set update schedule for this; I'll write when I can and want. Unfortunately, I can't post the next chapter of TSaTS since it isn't finished, but I did have the fruitful beginnings of this story in the pipeline, so I'm posting it now to compensate!

And yes, I will by attempting to write from the Selecteds' point of views! I probably won't write pre-Selection times, but definitely just before or during the Selection, I will give a go. It'll be great fun to tackle some of the girls!

Reviews, favourites and follows loved and appreciated! Thanks for reading!

~ GWA


	2. Merrick I

Merrick fidgeted with his suit jacket, hoping that the sweat patches underneath his armpits weren't noticeable.

Meet the Selected. Have a chat. That's all he needed to do.

Still, he grabbed the cuffs of his sleeves and pulled mercilessly with nerves. Maybe one would snap off, and his waiting staff would freak – putting off the task for another five minutes as he changed his shirt.

It was delaying the inevitable. He couldn't have a Selection and _not_ meet the Selected. His future wife wasn't going to just spring into his mind without all of the dramatic tension.

Sweat slicked down his neck, and he pulled on his tight collar. To think, all the time he'd spent untangling his terribly messy blond hair would go to waste. The time vacuuming every speck of dust from the birch furniture of the Amendment Drawing Room, with its blue patterns and sea swirls. The time stitching every seam on his pinstripe suit, and grey waistcoat. The crystal chandelier brightened every pore on his face, and he knew it only illuminated how sticky his skin was.

The door threw itself open, nearly taking out the attending butler, Clancy.

But – not a Selected walked in. His sister. Philippa.

Her red hair had piled on top of her head, crowned with those blinding, jewelled tiaras she so adored. Her blue dress trailed the floor like a river twinkling in the moonlight, but her fiendish grin destroyed any sense of innocent beauty.

"You're sweating like a turkey on Thanksgiving."

He drew up his upper lip. "It's not funny." Swallowing his intimidation, he managed a small voice. "Are they waiting outside?"

"Just filing into the corridor now."

A bundle of nerves clotted at the base of his spine, and he ended up sitting straighter despite himself. They were in the corridor. A wall separated him and his future wife. _A wall_.

Pippa snorted, whisking her way over to him in twirls, with her dress ribboning out around her. "You know all you have to do is say hello, right?"

He stiffened. "I know that."

"So why are you panicking so much?"

He wrung his hands together. "When there are thirty-five potential wives out there, you do tend to become a little rattled." He snuck her a glare. "Not that you'd understand what a Selection is like."

She stuck out her left hand right in front of his face so fast he flinched, both actions that would be frowned upon if they were in public. A platinum band glittered from her ring finger, encrusted with three of the purest, starkest of diamonds, cut asscher. It seemed to harmonise with the chandelier, and for a moment, Merrick wondered which would capture sunlight better.

Quick as a whip, she snatched back her hand, gushing over the ring. "George does know how to impress me." She fanned herself. "Our wedding is going to be astronomical."

Lucky for her, like his elder sister Decadence, she found love with a foreign prince. Lucky for her, she didn't have to go through the Selection to find the future co-ruler of the country, and the duty passed to him. The youngest Schreave sibling.

Pippa continued, her eyes glossed over. "And our children…" She pointed a finger into the air knowingly. "We will have precisely one, so no sibling rivalry. No arguing. I will name _her_ , I've decided, Alexandra. And she will be beautiful and kind. Just like me."

It was Merrick's turn to snort. "Right."

A knock. Clancy cracked open the door, and exchanged whispers, before he turned around. "They're ready for you, Your Highness."

Anxiety rocketed through him. "Oh _god_. What if I hate all of them? What if they all hate me?"

Pippa, instead, relinquished her wry smile for a genuine one, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The touch soothed him. "Don't worry about it, Merrick. You're gonna' adore them. It'll be like one big sleepover."

He blew out another hot breath. "But does it really have to be so… tense? Theatrical?"

She laughed, and it was whole and silly. "What's meeting potential suitors for your hand without some theatrics?"

He frowned. He could really do without any nonsense.

"As for _them_ hating _you_ …" That smug glint. "I can guarantee nothing."

Merrick pouted, which only set her off laughing again, even as she swaggered to exit. And when she was gone, her natural ease left with her, causing Merrick to become acutely aware of his damn armpits again. How was he going to manage when she moved to the United Kingdom Commonwealth to rule with her husband, only ever coming back to Illéa for business affairs and family trips? How could he stand the hallways without Pippa's whimsy laughter and fun?

Thank god, cameras weren't present. Merrick didn't think he could keep up the pretence around his Selected girls _and_ the rest of Illéa.

"Erm," he choked out to Clancy, undoing his top button. Screw appearances. "Send the first one in please."

Clancy obliged, and the first girl in strode in meekly. Like Pippa's, her blonde hair formed a neat nest upon her head, littered with tiny white flowers, and a warmth had blossomed on her cheeks. Her peach nails clicked upon one another.

So she was nervous, too. That didn't make Merrick feel any better.

"Good morning!" he chirruped.

 _It was afternoon_ , croaked a small voice within him. He'd already failed, as astronomical as Pippa's planned wedding.

But the girl seemed to find this amusing, and she giggled. "It _is_ morning in Australia, Your Highness," she said, almost breathlessly. She neared the white armchair opposite, but didn't sit down, and instead, curtsied low. "My name is Beatrice Jacobs."

 _Manners_. Quickly, Merrick shot to stand, nearly tripping on the edge of the navy carpets, and bowed his head. "Oh, lovely to meet you, Lady Beatrice!" His voice was unusually high, and he pitched it down. "Please, take a seat," he said, which emitted from his throat as if he were a chronic drinker of brandy.

And so, began, several introductions like this. Merrick attempting, but inevitably forgetting, his manners, and making as much small talk as possible. He spoke of the weather, their careers and their provinces. He spoke of the Selection, and the palace, and Angeles. Beatrice spoke shyly of her family life. January Pickles tried to teach him how to dance – and failed miserably when he stepped on her toes – and Alanna van Cross impressed him with an extensive, albeit creepy, knowledge of his family tree.

In fact, the most theatrical it ever became was when one girl entered by tap-dancing – before face-planting into the floor and causing her nose to bleed. No doubt, she was off Merrick's list.

Still, by the twenty-fifth girl, he was already exhausted. So when an Indian girl, exquisite in a teal sari, strode in with her hair tossed over one shoulder, and her eyes glued more to the room than him, he was relieved that it didn't seem he had to try so hard.

Still, she curtsied, peeling the dress and heavy fabric from her floor. Her skin was a shade darker than olive, and it contrasted with the white furniture. "Sashi Bhattacharya, Your Highness. Some call me _Batty_ , but they're wrong. I'm not crazy." Pause. "Which is what a crazy person would say, but I swear on my unicorn, I'm totally sane—"

"Please make yourself at home, Lady Sashi," he blurted, indicating the armchair opposite.

 _He cut her off_. Another to add to his seemingly endless list of mistakes. He didn't even have the courage to mumble an apology.

Sashi didn't seem fazed, and took his offer to _make herself at home_ to heart, flopping onto the armchair and sagging into the cushions. After a while, she said, "This is the comfiest armchair my butt has ever had the pleasure of sitting on."

Merrick couldn't resist a smile. It wasn't weather-related, which was a start, and at least Sashi seemed to have a sense of humour. "I'm glad. We like comfy armchairs at the palace." He placed a finger to his chin. "Actually, if you like that armchair, you should try the Women's Room. They have lovely chairs in there. I'm actually quite jealous."

Sashi sat up, eyes widening. "Oh my _god_. Yes. Aren't they great? I feel like I'm sitting on a ton of cotton candy." She settled again. "Hmm. Don't think it quite reaches this level of squishy, though."

Merrikc titled his head, happy to challenge her. "How about the Chateau Drawing Room? There's a sofa in there that my mother always steals. It must be legendary in terms of sitting quality."

She laughed – it was a giggle mixed with a snort. "I will definitely have to try it." Her eyes seemed to zero in on him, and she cocked an eyebrow. "Nervous?"

"What? Not at all," said some voice that was Merrick's, and yet not. Probably his prince training coming into practice.

A grin matched her eyebrow. "You could slide down the hallways with all that sweat."

It wasn't said unkindly – her amusement overran everything about her: posture, voice, glint of mischief in her chocolate-brown eyes. But, somehow, she still managed to look… relaxed. Opposite to Merrick.

He expelled a sigh. "Is it obvious?"

"Ohhhh yeah," she said. Then, she grinned. "Don't worry about being on your best behaviour, Your Highness. Most of us are nervous, too."

"You seem fine," said Merrick, his voice jumping up and down again. It wasn't even that risky of a question to warrant the rush of adrenaline he felt as the words left his mouth.

Sashi laughed. "Oh, well. My job as an events planner has taught me a lot of keeping cool under pressure."

A thought flickered in his mind. _Imagine if Sashi planned your wedding to her_. Merrick gulped it down, refocusing on the conversation.

She continued with an exasperated flash of her teeth. "The first girl that met you – Beatrice Jacobs, I think…? Yeah. She was hyperventilating outside. Poor thing."

Merrick's heart cracked. _He'd_ done that to her…? Now a wash of shame covered the nerves.

"I mean, no lie, Your Highness," Sashi sat up. "You are _the_ prince, and all. Flick of your hand, and you could have us all dismissed, or locked up, or banished. Even executed, if you really wanted."

Merrick's shoulders tensed, and his hands flew up in surrender. "O-Oh, I couldn't possibly have you executed! Goodness!"

That smirk. "Banished?"

"That… is within my jurisdiction, yes," Merrick rambled suddenly. "But I wouldn't want to banish any of you! Don't worry."

She visibly stifled her laugh, and gave a thumbs-up. "That's a relief. I'll let the rest of the girls know, then. Especially the ones who have yet to have the pleasure of your company."

"Wonderful," he said. Sweat still clammed his hands, but he stood and held out his hand to Sashi, anyway. "It's lovely to meet you."

She swept up into a stand and knocked her hand into his. Her palms were surprisingly sweaty, too. Perhaps not even the events planning could prepare her for an audience with the prince.

"Nice to meet you, too, Your Highness," she said, inclining her head. "Good luck with the rest of the Selected."

Sashi had character, he decided with fondness. It was surprising how much she had relaxed him, even if only for a moment. Her demeanour reminded him of Pippa, except with slightly more… chill. She would stay. For now.

"Thank you," he said. "I hope we can talk more soon."

She nodded her head in acknowledgement and sauntered out of the room.

Merrick sat down, ignoring the heat from every crevice of him. Clancy topped up his water, which he'd had to refill so many times from Merrick's attempts to cool down. Clipping his collar, he ushered for the next girl.

When the valet opened the door, the girl did not step inside – silhouetted by the afternoon sunlight. First, she pinched the edges of her unusual dress – with floaty grey top and skirt like a nighttime sea, and embellished with white jewels, but not like any dress he'd seen before – and curtsied deeply. She curtsied for so long that Merrick was about to ask her forward, but she rose, striding inside with her chin high.

As she neared, she began to recognise her features from the forms. It was clear she was New Asian, by her facial structure, her flat, small nose, and her eyes – nearly obsidian in colour. Her hair was a rich black, as if plucked from the deepest coalmines in the core of the earth, and falling down her in simple waves.

Pink lips pressed together, he met her gaze - intense, electrifying. Darkness seemed to seep from her, and she neared him like wraith coming to steal his soul.

His gut twisted in response. She was terrifyingly beautiful.

Utterly entranced, he knew his stupid brain forgot to blink until she stood by the armchair and said, "Good afternoon, Your Highness."

Even her voice was like steel, lethally cold, but somehow still with a soft, calming cadence. This Selected had managed to awaken a deep fear within him that he could not name. He ripped his gaze away, and shot to stand. _Stupid Merrick, for staring_. _Stupid Merrick, for not standing when she walked into the room_.

"G-Good morning— er, afternoon," he stumbled over his words, which nearly stuck to his tongue. "Please, take a seat, Lady…?"

She seated herself at the edge of the chair, her back erect, her hands placed on top of one another on her lap. As placid as a doll, and yet, as strong and sturdy as forged iron. "Kim Ji-Yu," she said, monotone.

He furrowed his eyebrows. He _had_ read the Selected forms beforehand, but he didn't remember there being a Kim. "Lady Kim, of course. Please forgive my memory," he said.

Her eyes widened a fraction, before stealing back that frozen coolness. "Ah. I beg your pardon. Ji-Yu Kim. My first name is Ji-Yu, and my last name is Kim."

Now that she said that, he did detect the very faintest hint of an accent, but he couldn't place where, and it mixed with something utterly _Southern Belle_ , too. His memory chugged and worked, trying furiously to remember information on Ji-Yu Kim's form. Where she was from, and where she worked.

He sat down and held up his hands. "Oh, not at all. I mix up my names all the time."

Lungs twisting, his inner voice rasped, _you have literally_ never _called yourself Schreave Merrick before_.

Ji-Yu seemed to question this as well, as a curved eyebrow lifted upon her forehead, which lightly shimmered from whatever make-up she was wearing. "Your Highness… mixes up his names?"

Merrick scrambled for a recovery. "Ah, yes. My full name is Merrick Gregory Triton Clarkson Galloway Schreave," he frowned, squinting, "or does the Clarkson come before the Triton…?"

The faintest smile tugged on Ji-Yu's thin lips, before it vanished. "Yes. I see how that would be… a struggle. I only have the two names."

He managed a curt laugh. "That's handy." He puffed out his chest with pride pulled from some void within him. "I'm making it a rule now: none of my children will ever have as many names as I do."

And he paled. Why did he tell her that? If there was any advice screaming within his mind, it was not to talk about the possibility of children during his _first_ meeting with the Selected. Talk about off-putting.

She nodded politely. Whether she had an opinion on it, he'd never know, as her face had been expertly schooled into that unforgiving exterior. She cleared her throat, as if dispelling her emotions.

"I actually make my mistake as, in New Asia, we introduce our surnames before our forenames. Force of habit comes to play."

Good, an opening point. "You're from New Asia?"

"Originally, yes," Ji-Yu replied swiftly. "South Korea, to be exact. I moved to Midston when I was eight, and I admit I am still not used to introductions."

His brain vomited information at him, recalling from his form read-through: she was twenty-one years old. Over an entire year older than him. Merrick tucked this away. "I see. Is that… your dress…?"

She smoothed out the skirt, as if on instinct. "Ah, yes. This is a _hanbok_ , a traditional dress in South Korea. Since the palace's dress code requires formality, I thought it would be good opportunity to wear one." She frowned. "Would you prefer a… more western dress?"

Merrick blinked, before shaking his head rapidly. "Oh, no, no! Wear whatever you feel comfortable in. If it's formal, it fits."

Ji-Yu smiled – that tranquillity like the eye of a storm. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Ignoring the warring terror and awe within him, he said, "So, what do you do now?"

At this, Ji-Yu became rigid, and she looked at him with her head tilted downwards slightly, as if anticipating disapproval. It was the first sign of any weakness from her.

"I'm… a jujitsu instructor."

Pure awe fluttered into him, and he widened his eyes before he could help himself. _Jujitsu?_ She really _was_ a wraith, beautiful and terrifying and able to kick his ass.

She must have caught the sparkle in his eye, as she smiled – a quaint, subtle smile, but a smile nonetheless. "It's a wonderful job. Teaching children and adults alike to defend themselves."

"Wow," Merrick echoed. "Can you… show me?"

The words had tumbled from his tongue before he realised.

 _Oh god,_ his inner mind snapped. _Why did I just ask a Selected girl to do jujitsu?!_

Ji-Yu looked equally perplexed, blinking rapidly a few times as if her brain was still comprehending him. Still, she stood again and said, "If Your Highness wishes so." She paused, and a wary tone overtook her. "What… did you want me to show you?"

Well, he'd dug himself a hole now. Merrick gulped down a clamber of intimidation. "If memory serves, jujitsu involves a lot of… throwing?"

"Correct," she said.

"Erm," he said. "How about you throw me?"

Her cold exterior wiped clean for something completely nonplussed – he could practically see the question marks rolling from her head.

"Er, of course," she said. Then, she cleared her throat, batting away her outer emotions again, and scattered a few pillows onto the ground before her. "If you go to punch me, I will demonstrate it to you."

It was too late to back down now, as Ji-Yu had assumed a stance with her feet parted, her arms up to shield her face. His eyes slid to Clancy, who was watching like he didn't want to, but couldn't tear his eyes away – this was probably the first time he'd seen a Selected girl ask to be punched.

Merrick was certain it was the only time any Selected had asked to be punched.

He gulped down the saliva that collected at the base of his mouth. Unlike what the tabloids said, he very rarely worked out, and his arms were so flimsy that he could hardly hold anything above his own body weight. He knew this would only end in pure, unaltered embarrassment.

Still, he tried to put some _oomph_ into his punch. He balled a fist, and swung, aiming for just passed her ear.

Ji-Yu snapped. She seized Merrick's noodle arm before it could collide with her and spun around. She tucked herself into his front, and kicked her leg back – it connected into his inner thigh and tipped him right over her shoulder as she yanked him, and he slammed into the pillows with a thwack.

The impact leapt through his back, sharp and stinging. Clancy yelped in the far corner.

Ji-Yu hovered over him, still holding onto his arm – it ached at her grip. Her hair dripped down her, no longer as straight or neat.

"Oh, I'm sorry… that was a bit…" She bit her lip, betraying some form of horror. "Are you all right?"

Dizziness crawled up his spine, and a low ache tickled through him, but he swatted all these feelings away. It only made him more aware of how she softened her hold, how gentle her touch was. "Oh, no – I'm fine," he said breathlessly. "How… I'm so much taller than you…?"

Ji-Yu let him go and stood, offering him a hand. Merrick took it – her grip was as strong as her throw, and he jumped up to his feet with ease.

Clancy had also neared. His chestnut hair seemed frazzled. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but… Your Highness is all right…?"

Spots seemed to dance across Merrick's vision, too, but they quickly receded as he shut his eyes. "I'm fine, thank you, Clancy." He dusted himself off and faced Ji-Yu. "That was truly amazing."

Ji-Yu merely inclined her head in a respectful manner. "Thank you, Your Highness." She took a deep breath. "As for our height difference, it shouldn't matter so long as you perform the technique correctly. I used your momentum and weight against you." Pause – her eyes widened a fraction. "N-Not that I'm bringing any attention to your weight, Your Highness. It's just that you're taller than me, and probably heavier simply because of your height—"

Merrick couldn't stifle the chuckle rising in his throat. "That's okay. I know what you mean." He placed his arms on his hips and beamed. "I take great pride in my tough physique."

Ji-Yu, too, cracked a smile with a show of her teeth. Even Clancy coughed his amusement away.

Alas, he couldn't stay here and have her continue to show him more. He rolled back his shoulders, which clicked with the effort, and listed his head. "Well, thank you, Lady Ji-Yu, for the demonstration. I should probably see the rest of the girls now."

"Of course," said Ji-Yu, recapturing that tundra – the ice and frost of her voice, posture, demeanour. "Thank you for seeing me today."

Part of his brain seemed to melt at her voice. "My pleasure," he stuttered out, sticking out his hand.

Ji-Yu's gaze pinned him, and she met his grip. There was no sweat on her hands, and their shake was brief and professional.

She curtsied once more before she left.

Merrick watched the door, as if he could still see the wispy outline of her ghost. She was sharp, haunting, and able to rip him to shreds, even in her formal gowns and priceless jewels. Her poise and grace was like nothing he'd seen in any of the Selected girls. And she hadn't sweated one bit.

And Merrick was spellbound.

He'd never had a crush before, and although he definitely thought some of the other girls were intriguing, none had quite captivated him as much as she had, just by planting him solidly on his butt.

Ji-Yu would stay. He even dared to think that perhaps… she'd make it to his Elite. Further? He didn't dare test fate.

But the little pinprick in his heart, jittery and boundless from such the short encounter, whispered to him.

 _Perhaps theatrics aren't so bad after all_.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ah, this idea came to me and I couldn't stop myself from writing it. How Merrick met Ji-Yu... not in the most usual sense, lol. Plus Sashi is here too, with all her wildness! Hope you enjoyed it!

I've added an Updates section at the top of my profile about how I'm doing with story updates, so if you ever want to know, check there. I've decided to slow updates of TSaTS in order to revise for my exams in January. The update schedule will probably be a little whack until they're over. Sorry everyone!

Also totally unrelated, but I'm going to see Cursed Child tomorrow... not read the book, but I'm pumped. :D

Next chapter of Select Few, I plan to tackle my first Selected character... ;) All reviews, favourites and follows loved. Thanks for reading!

~ Green

PS: The Clarkson does come before the Triton!


	3. Persephone I

If you'd have asked Persephone Cahill whether anything good could come out of falling out of a tree, she would've laughed at the thought. Pondered on the sheer pain one would have to endure. Considered the slight chance that breaking your foot could buy you a few days out of work, maybe. But, when all was said and done, the answer would be a resounding, unforgiving _no_. Nothing good ever came from falling out of a tree.

Until today.

The sunset that day had been _too_ beautiful, too vivid, too colourful and vibrant and exotic and luxurious, to resist taking a photo of it. The clouds were thin like streaks of creamy ribbon in the sky, and the brilliant oranges coalesced with the milky tones of indigo and navy just so that there was a sparkle of pink in between.

Persephone couldn't rein herself back when she spotted it from her bedroom window, the sheer curtains thrown aside in favour of letting the colours glitter on her carpet. The windows faced west, which meant that, although the sun was in her eyes for most of the evening, she did have one of the best views of it setting beneath the horizon.

She grabbed her black shoulder bag from her desk and freed her bulky camera, checking the battery compartment. Ah, yes, she'd changed the batteries last week. It would still work.

Creeping to her window as if her actions could awaken the palace, Persephone opened her window. The bars across the bottom half of her doors prevented her from stepping out any further, and she wasn't fancy enough like the royals to earn a balcony, but it was still good enough for a shot of the sky.

The trees peaked from down below, chilly in the icy wind, and Persephone mounted her camera. The view of the sunset came into focus – the colour was somewhat saturated on this model, and it was sad that she couldn't fully capture the scope of the sunset's natural beauty, but she could do what she could to fix that in editing.

Satisfied with the angle, she clicked the button. _Snap_. The picture sealed in the camera's memory forever, and Persephone straightened to take a look.

It was a skewed angle of the sunset, the grading off, the ground below tilted. She tried several times to rectify this by taking more photos, but none of them satisfied her. None of them were good enough.

Gritting her teeth, Persephone grabbed her dressing gown on her wardrobe door, and pulled on some cotton socks and a pair of trainers. Yes, she looked silly, combined with her t-shirt and jeans loungewear, but for the sake of the photo, she would endure. Gently slotting her camera back into her bag, she headed from the guest wing of the palace to the outdoors.

If she could just find a better position, get slightly closer to the sun's point, then her photo would be glorious. Instagraph worthy, definitely.

She rounded a corner, so wrapped in corrections she would need to make for the photo that she nearly ran into a man carrying a ginormous stack of heavy towels.

"Oh!" she yelped, jerking backwards.

The man stopped, tilting his head to see passed the towels. Just Rudy.

If it'd been anyone else, Persephone might have been worried.

"I'm not sure how you could miss this towel monster approaching you, Miss What's-Your-Name, and yet, you managed," he said, cracking a wry grin.

Persephone waved him away. "Sorry. I was distracted." Smirk. "Rudy, is it?"

"Correct. And you are… Persephone?" said Rudy, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure a faceplant into the Towel of Terror would have brought you right back into reality," he said, light teasing.

Persephone grinned. She and Rudy hadn't been friendly until recently, despite the fact that they'd both been working and living at the palace for years. Only a few months ago, did Rudy go into one of the staff rooms complaining about being overworked when Persephone happened to be there – she'd been fascinated that anyone could manage to work with the infamous Prince Roy – and for some reason, they'd just clicked.

Awkwardly, Persephone hadn't known Rudy's name until weeks after that first conversation, but it turned out that Rudy was the same. They made constant jokes about it now that it'd become a running gag between them.

Plus, they were both redheads. Always a bonus.

"Why don't you just… put some down and make two trips to laundry?"

Rudy scoffed, righting himself so that he was blocked by the towels. "Emphasis on _two_ trips. I'm doing this in one. No one can stop me."

"I just stopped you."

"A momentary set-back."

"You're stubborn."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Persephone rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but warm. "Are you on duty at the moment?"

Rudy laughed. "Do you think I would be wearing this if I weren't?"

"I literally cannot see what you're wearing behind your towel monster."

"Which means I also cannot see you. A godsend for my poor eyes."

"I could push you over right now."

"Go ahead. Then I'll be sent to the infirmary for breaking my foot, and then _you'd_ have to wash His Highness' towels."

Persephone shuddered. As much as Prince Roy intrigued her, she didn't want to do his chores.

"Why are you out and about, anyway?" Rudy asked, adjusting the stack in his arms. Persephone caught sight of his ponytail, just flicking over his shoulder. "It's nearly sunset, and I'm certain there's a court meeting early tomorrow morning."

"It is sunset," Persephone clarified. "I'm going outside to take a photo."

"Ah, yes. Your hobby."

 _Hobby_. Photography had once began as a hobby like how a tree begins as a seed in the earth, before sprouting and growing into something larger than life. Now it ran through the blood in her veins, a destiny she could grasp if only she dared.

It wasn't a far cry to think that maybe she could be a professional photographer one day. Rudy just didn't get it.

Persephone pursed her lips, though she knew Rudy couldn't see. "It's not a hobby. It's a way of life."

"Of course," Rudy conceded – a twinge of his sarcasm rolled through. "Well, enjoy the bitter cold and freezing puddles of the outside world."

He passed her, flashing a cool smirk her way, before moving off down the corridor for the stairs to laundry. Persephone grinned, suddenly more invigorated to take her best photo, just so she could shove it in Rudy's face. Rudy didn't appear to have very many hobbies aside from extreme cleanliness, so of course, he didn't understand. But she could show him, through time.

Though their conversation had cost exactly that – the sun would be lower in the sky now, and the colours would have shifted more towards midnight blues. The balance had to be just right, and Persephone had to hurry before the picture quality became grainy with nightfall.

The guards watched her with dubiousness as she waded through the, yes, bitter cold and freezing puddles of the outside world, to a spot just passed the paved courtyards of the garden. Wind streamed through her thin clothes, but she clenched her jaw and endured it, if only for the sake of the photo. Pro photographers would do anything when they had enough passion, so Persephone would do the same.

She found a nearby tree and stood in front of it, soaking in the weak sunrays of October. The first glimmer of the stars were beginning to settle in the sky, and the clouds were dulling to slate greys and deep charcoals. She had to get the picture now, or wait until tomorrow – weather permitting. And even then, everything would be different. No two sunsets were the same.

Persephone clicked a few more photos, but each turned out to be equally unsatisfying. She tried raising her arms and snapping the photo blind, or tilting the camera slightly, but every photo ended up wrong in some way. The good thing about her bedroom was that it was on the highest floor of the palace, and her view of the garden, and the horizon, was nothing short of spectacular. Down here, she had to face the camera upwards, and it didn't make for a genuine shot.

Her mind clicked and chugged. How could she overcome this?

Her eyes swept over the nearby tree. If the problem was height…

Persephone shoved her camera back into the bag and approached the tree. It was a large thing, oak, with a muddy wave crawling over the edges of the leaves in preparation for a late autumn. The bark was still slightly wet from the rainfall, but, as she stroked her hand against its damp roughness, there were enough branches for it to be deemed safe.

So Persephone lodged one foot onto the nearest branch, and began to climb.

She wasn't inclined to sports or physical activity of any kind, but her sheer determination to capture the best shot possible drove her up and up and up. Shadows danced across her silk pyjamas the deeper into the tree she ascended, and the thick perfume of tilled soil and leaves embraced her like a hug.

Securing her hold, and about three metres from the ground, Persephone turned around. Branches clogged her vision, but since they were small enough, she brushed them aside with her hands. Sweat trickled down her neck from the work, but as Persephone gazed into the horizon, and the horizon gazed back, she knew it had been worth it.

Her damp fingers were slick over the camera, but she clenched it tight. Angle. Focus. Distance. Aperture. Exposure. She altered them all, balanced precariously on the balls of her feet and leant against a think, spindly branch.

Persephone lifted the camera, and closed her right eye. The shot came into view through the scope.

Magnificent.

Radiance shimmered through the lens, filling her with warmth like liquid sunshine. The dark and light colours married and danced in paint strokes, the sky a canvas, and Persephone just another, trying to recapture its brilliance. The foresty greens of the trees beyond the wall just reached into the shot, silhouetting the edge of the photo like a dark frame.

She pressed the button. _Snap_. The picture was even more beautiful now that her unsteady hands didn't affect the shot, and she admired each pixel. Her camera wasn't the best, but it did its job, and just looking at the picture ignited wonder and excitement that she hadn't felt before. People would see this picture and ponder on it – perhaps, even, discuss the colour work in galleries and museums.

Persephone liked to dream, at least.

The wind yammered, and Persephone came back to the present – her dressing gown likely torn from the rabid branches, and the hem of her trousers cloyingly sticky. What would another shot hurt? Maybe a different angle would be beneficial. Then she could compare and contrast several photos, and choose the best one to feature on Instagraph. One step closer to having her work recognised.

Persephone pushed on the branch to check its stability. It was rigid behind her, sturdy and strong. She wouldn't fall backwards.

She lifted the camera for another shot. _Snap_. _Snap_.

Filled with blossoming dreams, Persephone lifted the camera higher. _Snap. Snap_.

Just… one more?

Resolve filled her. Photographers did everything in their power to take the winning picture.

She grounded her foot, and inched the camera higher.

Something in the tree crackled.

She felt the deep rumble within the trunk before the snapping off the branch she stood on. Air shoved into her as she toppled through the branches, catching the stray leaves and twigs during her fall. Sharp thorns ripped through her clothes and skin. She belted a scream, and the ground gyrated and whirled.

 _My camera_. Seeing the ground, Persephone twisted her body, shielding her technology from the brunt, and landed on her left foot.

Agony blasted up her leg, and she cried out. It throbbed, it heckled, it smashed into her conscience and stabbed like a thousand knives. Collapsing to her back, the wet grass crushed against her cheek. Tears blotted out the sky.

That glorious, beautiful sky.

Footsteps crunched from somewhere around her, but, delirious with pain, Persephone couldn't focus on it.

"Ma'am, are you— oh, my god, _ma'am_!"

She recognised the guard's voice before he treaded around to face her. She had made it a responsibility to know all the redheads since Rudy in the monarchy's employment, and the only rational chip of her head told her this was Officer O'Hannagain of the patrol units.

"My— my foot," she bleated. "I— it's—"

The blurry horror on his face was enough to tell Persephone that she'd busted her foot big time. Sprained? Broken? Had it fallen off entirely?

"Does anything else hurt?"

Gulping, Persephone tried to shut out the searing pain to focus on some other, any other, part of her body. Luckily, death only seemed to want to claim her foot.

"My camera," she croaked, unravelling her arms. The camera fell out of her cocoon and rolled onto the grass. "Is my camera all right?"

O'Hannagain raised an eyebrow, but he checked the device. "Er, no scratches or cracks here, ma'am."

Persephone didn't have the will to sigh, but relief poured into her. The camera was most important to her, as was the memory card deep within. As long as they were intact, she didn't care what happened to her.

"Nothing else hurts," she said, her voice cracking, tears threatening to fall.

"Would it be all right if I carried you to the infirmary, ma'am?"

She nodded, and said nothing else as O'Hannagain lifted her into his arms and ran to the infirmary.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Dr Nagi had made quick work, X-raying and diagnosing the left foot as broken in the heel. Persephone's shoe and sock had to be cut off before she watched the skin puff and purple, swollen to the size of a peach, and bruised like one, too.

Swaddled in hospital bed sheets, Persephone stared up at the surf-patterned ceiling. The pain had lessened through medication, but she was still on rest until Dr Nagi decided what to do next with it. Whether it needed to be casted, or if she could let Persephone go free with crutches. It had to be bandaged, at least, but for now, Persephone awaited a firmer decision. Her camera was nestled in its camera bag on the bedside table, next to pain medication and her X-ray sheets.

That stupid tree branch. It had been holding her weight just fine, until she'd pressed her foot down a little harder. This wouldn't have happened if it had been just slightly sturdier.

 _Still_ , Persephone thought, _photographers are injured like this all the time. Why should I be any different?_

She knew the answer. She wasn't a professional photographer by any means. Just an amateur with big dreams.

And an even bigger obstacle.

She heard the high heels before she saw them.

"My daughter, Persephone— where is she?!"

Her mother's crazed voice pierced the tranquillity of the infirmary wing. Persephone managed to sit up and trace the closed ward curtains with her eyes before her mother threw them aside.

"Persephone—!" She softened. "Oh, Seph, sweetheart…"

Eleanor Cahill's usually warm brown eyes were incensed with coals and flame. Her dark brown skin was flushed with worry, and she gripped the footboard of the bed, her nails digging into the cold steel. The wrinkles by her eyes deepened like a carved network of trenches.

"What— what happened?" she said, breathlessly.

Unprepared to answer the question, Persephone blabbered, "I— er…"

"O'Hannagain informed me you fell out of a _tree_?" Eleanor said. "Why on earth were you in a tree?"

Eleanor couldn't know. She'd _kill_ Persephone.

Unfortunately, the evidence was right next to her. On the bedside table.

Eleanor's eyes slid to the camera, and her eyebrows furrowed with realisation.

"You were out taking pictures, weren't you?"

Persephone gulped, but at the same time, a wall of defensiveness built inside her.

"The sky was _gorgeous_ tonight, Mom," Persephone opened. "I couldn't get a good angle in my bedroom, so I went outside—"

"And you _endangered_ yourself by climbing a tree?" she snapped back. "Do you realise how reckless that is?"

Steeling her shoulders, Persephone frowned. "Professional photographers do it all the time."

"You are _not_ a professional photographer, Persephone Sutton Cahill." She waved her hand. "I don't mind you having a hobby – in fact, photography is _wonderful_ – but risking your life for it is _not_ acceptable."

That word again. _Hobby_.

"Besides that," Eleanor continued, "professional photographers have equipment and safety measures in place so that if they _do_ want to climb trees, they can do so without risking a broken foot!"

Persephone held her tongue. Her mother was right on that part. But at one point, professionals were amateurs, right? They didn't become famous by staying in their comfort zones, which Eleanor seemed willing to do.

Eleanor patted her hair down, which at least obeyed her will to stop straying in her anger. Then, she placed her hands together, sighed, and took the seat by Persephone's bed.

"You will represent this country one day, Seph. You can't continue to put yourself at risk like this."

Persephone snorted. "You make it sound like I'll be princess one day, Mom."

Eleanor shot her a curt look. "I mean as an _advisor_. To Their Majesties. In the royal court."

Oh, yes. Persephone had heard this a million times. Advisor assistant had been her daily job, running errands for Eleanor, one of the king and queen's aides, until Persephone was old enough to sit it on their advisory meetings and become a shadowing advisor. Palace etiquette and country infrastructure fascinated her, of course, but not as much as snapping that perfect shot of a sunset.

Eleanor didn't really know that.

She fluttered out her hand again to Persephone's broken foot. "All this for a picture, for goodness sake."

"It was a great photo, I'll have you know."

It was Eleanor's turn to snort. "For all this, the picture had better _warm_ me with real sunlight."

Despite herself, Persephone wheezed out a chuckle, and Eleanor did the same.

"But, you're unharmed, apart from your foot?"

Persephone nodded. "Right as a rose."

Eleanor paused to absorb this, checking Persephone over for any visible signs of distress, but, finding none other than the minor scratches, she sighed. "All right." Shaking her head, she leant back in the chair. "I was discussing some delicate matters with the queen you know, when O'Hannagain came to inform me of the news. I was glad to drop the topic of discussion until I heard it was because you were hospitalised."

Persephone withheld her own sigh, but figured she should venture. "What were you talking about?"

"Prince Roy's Selection," said Eleanor. She crossed her arms. "Apparently, the prince has been trying to fight it since before he announced it to Illéa."

For the first time, Persephone felt a long-distance kinship with Prince Roy. Both forced to do something they didn't want to do to please their parents.

Then again, at least Roy had the opportunity to be vocal about his displeasure. Persephone was forced to keep quiet about the infinite joy that photography gave her. The passion that flared through the marrow of her bones for her cameras, and editing, and sunsets and colours. But no way would her mother let her stray from the path of advisor, as she herself was one. Married to work.

Persephone didn't want to disappoint her mother. It just wasn't on the cards.

An idea flickered into existence so fast Persephone could hardly keep up with her scrambled thoughts.

Perhaps... perhaps there _was_ a way to chase her dreams _and_ not disappoint her mother.

Like... entering the Selection.

It was a small chance. Practically hopeless, that Persephone would be picked, that her name would be called out from the bowls on live television, and bolster her status from lady of the royal court to Selected. That she would no longer have to suffer in those meetings when the call to her camera had tethered to her like a swirling, persistent mist.

It was a small chance. But it _was there_.

The month to apply had nearly run out, just over a week left to have fill in a form and have her picture taken.

If she succeeded in being chosen… she would more likely be able to follow her passion. She could take pictures every day, of girls, of dresses, of foods and jewels and ornaments beyond her wildest dreams. Heck, she joked about it before in a throwaway line, but she imagined the vast range of subjects she could have access to if she _were_ a princess. _The_ princess.

Becoming involved in the Selection probably meant she would never leave behind political matters fully. But that wasn't the point – at least she wouldn't be trapped doing it for the rest of her life. She could chase her dreams, or do both at once. When she retired the crown to her children, she could have photography retreats or even take classes.

At least the Selection provided a _choice._

Though that meant having to woo Roy, too, and Persephone tried not to think deeply into it. The prince was a handsome young man, albeit arrogant, but whether they could be anything together? She had no idea.

Regardless of her thoughts on him, the plan had lodged itself into her head before she could stop herself, and it had no intention of floating away.

Eleanor's voice broke her concentration. "I don't blame the prince, really. It was a rather sudden turn of events for him. Though perhaps it will instil some responsibility into him." She smiled, placing a delicate hand on Persephone's leg, and whispered, "You're far more organised and intelligent when it comes to politics than he is, sweetheart."

The plan was beginning to take shape in her mind. She just had to ask someone to drive her to the nearest town office – probably buried somewhere in Los Angeles – to fill in the form and have her picture taken. Her mother would never find out.

"Right," Persephone said, not paying attention.

Eleanor removed the hand, oblivious to how much thought was churning in Persephone's head.

"Now, you get some rest; I should probably return to Queen Ji-Yu to reassure her about your state of health. When Dr Nagi returns, make sure to tell her to email me your medical files." She stood up, before pursing her lips. "And no more gallivanting off to dangerous places for your hobbies, okay?"

 _Hobbies_. The word stung like an electric shock.

But Persephone knew she would prevail. Hobby would become profession. Her heart would not let her become imprisoned as Roy had with his Selection. She had a passion, and she would pursue it. No matter the state of her feet, or the parental obstacles blocking her path.

"No more, Mom," Persephone said. Hope winked within her. "No more."

* * *

 **A/N:** suprise! I figured, I've got three of these damn chapters sitting in my docs, why not yolo it and post a few before 34? So here you are! If you remember, Persephone Cahill had busted her leg during the first few weeks of the Selection, and this is why. Hope you enjoyed it!

Thanks to **wolfofstark** for Persephone! She's a unique character amongst the Selection, given that she lives in the palace, and I wanted to capture even just a semblance of her life. I'm always attracted to those with secrets, lol. Don't worry, I intend to flesh out her photography passion in the main story, too. ;) I've kind of been struggling with how to end 34, because I cannot for the life of me think of a decent hook (read: cliffhanger of death ;P), so... yeah. Sorting through that, but 34 is nearly done, so after that I can finally move onto 35 hahah.

Reviews, favourites and follows most appreciated, dear friends. Thanks for reading!

~ GreenWithAwesome


	4. Ji-Yu I

Ji-Yu's thoughts were entirely focused on her paperwork before she heard her sister's excited scream – literally, a _scream_ – from downstairs.

Crushing her curiosity, Ji-Yu clicked her pen multiple times and refocused on the documents in front of her. As a jujitsu instructor for children, she had to fill out safety forms annually to prove, firstly, her ability to teach, and secondly, that her criminal record was clean. It wasn't a task she enjoyed, though her family seemed to think otherwise, but a task necessary for her to keep her job. They were due to her sensei tomorrow, so she simply didn't have the time to find out what was causing her sister's joy.

It was probably a shoe sale, or a new range of nail varnishes.

Rapid footsteps blundered up the stairs – Ji-Yu recognised the patter as her sister's, and she sighed, knowing that the safety check forms would have to wait.

The door to her bedroom flung open.

"Oh my god, _onni_! You have to come downstairs, _right now_! It's an _emergency_!"

Ji-Yu swivelled in her chair to face her sister. Mi-Gyeong was clad in a glittery cocktail dress and giant, glitzy high heels that were taller than a chihuahua. Most people had difficulty telling the two of them apart, but now her hair was auburn, cascading down her chest in curls – opposite to Ji-Yu's inky black, straight hair.

Then again, her hair colour seemed to change every week.

"What is it now, _yeodongsaeng_?" Ji-Yu said. "I'm busy."

Mimi pouted. "You're not busy enough for this. You have to come down, now! I'm not going to explain!"

Before Ji-Yu could protest, Mimi grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the stairs. The sequins of her dress glittered so blindingly that Ji-Yu struggled to face her, almost like she was her own sun.

Mimi finally let go once they passed the threshold. The living room was small and cosy, with minimal furnishings and simple decorations. The TV was the biggest fixture in the room, taking up nearly the entirely of the right wall. The sofa had been blanketed with a handmade, white quilt, embroidered with red octagonal Korean designs. Ji-Yu's parents, Hwan and Young-Sook Kim, were nestled on top, so the quilt was wrinkled, and together they shared a bucket of toffee popcorn between them.

Hwan grinned. It wrinkled his already wrinkled face, matching his grey hair. "How're forms going?" he asked, switching the conversation to Korean, the native tongue of the house.

Ji-Yu glared at her sister. "They _aren't_ going. What's so important?"

Young-Sook's far calmer demeanour was something closer to what Ji-Yu had taken after. Her hair, though, was closer to white than black, and beginning to thin. She closed her palms around a handful of popcorn. "I never really know, with your sister."

Mimi apparently ignored the jab, and reached for the TV remote. The TV itself was paused, stuck on a frozen frame of the current Queen of Illéa, Diantha Schreave. She gestured grandly towards the crowd, her mouth hung open, and her blonde hair tickled her shoulders.

"Did you rewind it, Dad?"

Hwan pouted – it looked just like Mimi's, moments before. "Of course I did."

Ji-Yu sighed, knowing she couldn't escape even if she wanted to, and grabbed some popcorn. The sweetness was a relief in the sour situation. "I'm not interested in political nonsense."

Mimi jabbed the remote at the TV, and it began to play again. Diantha's words tooted from the TV's audio output – uppity and drawled. Ji-Yu didn't pay it much attention.

"It's _not_ political nonsense. Well," Mimi placed a finger on her lips, painted ruby red, "I _suppose_ you'll whine and say it is – but it _isn't_ , and you're going to watch."

She pointed at the sofa menacingly, guarding the exit in case Ji-Yu decided to make a run for it. Ji-Yu groaned, reluctantly admitting defeat, and planted herself between her parents whilst Mimi bounced up and down behind the sofa.

In perfect timing, Diantha handed over role of host to the glamourous new presenter of the Capital Report, Romilda van der Voort. She glided on screen with her pearly white grin and her effortlessly styled afro.

"Good evening, Illéa, and what an exciting surprise we have for the rest of tonight!"

"Her dress is _fab_ ," Mimi commented. "She's going to be such a good host."

Ji-Yu ignored her, and folded her hands on her lap, glancing at her father and mother – Hwan had taken the bucket and was shovelling popcorn into his mouth, enraptured by the screen, whereas Young-Sook stared absently at Romilda, possibly just enjoying the sound of her voice.

Ji-Yu's mother never quite learnt English very well, and she struggled to understand basic conversation. Even today, after she'd lived here for more than a decade. Luckily, Hwan, Mimi and Ji-Yu were able to translate for her most of the time.

Romilda cleared her throat. "We're ending this week's Capital Report with a special announcement – straight from His Royal Highness, Prince Merrick Schreave _._ "

She gestured off-screen, and the camera angle changed. A pale, blond man, just a few years younger than Ji-Yu, stood by the podium, dressed in his sharpest suit. His hair had been combed with a side parting, and his green eyes shivered with nerves.

Ji-Yu felt a pang of sadness for him. Whatever he was about to say, he was nervous.

Mimi squealed behind her. "Oh! Keep watching, Ji! Keep watching!"

Prince Merrick gulped. "G-Good evening, Illéa." The words seemed to imbue him with some pride, and he stood straighter. "I would firstly like to thank you for your kind words over this last week. I have enjoyed my nineteenth birthday immensely, and I hope that my ever-growing age ushers in a year of improvement for our great nation. Now that I am, ahem, 'quite old', as Mother put it" – the camera panned to Diantha Schreave, whose cheeks pinched with a polite laugh at the comment, before focusing back on Merrick – "and my elder sisters, Princess Decadence and Princess Philippa, have been promised to other men, it is high time I stepped into my role as heir to the Illéan throne.

"Therefore, I would like to take this opportunity to show how serious I am about becoming the next King of Illéa, by…" he seemed to stumble, but recovered quickly. "By holding my Selection."

Ji-Yu's shoulders slumped. Oh, right, of course. She should have expected it, and yet, she still wasn't surprised. All of the heirs had Selections at one point in their lives.

Mimi's squeals could shatter glass. She paused the TV again and twirled to face Ji-Yu.

"Don't you know what this means?"

"That he's old?" Hwan suggested, earning him a huff from Mimi.

"What… what is a _Selection_?" said Young-Sook, her lips pursed, clearly troubled by this one English word she didn't recognise within the context.

Mimi rolled her eyes. "Oh, Mom! It's only the biggest television event of the century!" She threw up her arms, echoing a film trailer voice. "Thirty-five girls. One prince. The chance of a lifetime."

Young-Sook frowned. "That… doesn't explain anything."

Mimi sighed dramatically. "Thirty-five girls go to live in the palace to try and win Prince Merrick's hand. If they're successful, they get to marry him and become a _princess_!" She made a noise like a dying hyena. "And their family become Ones! Can you imagine? _Ones_!"

Ji-Yu shrivelled. Somehow, she had a feeling where this was going.

But instead, Mimi jumped out of the way, and played the TV again.

Merrick continued to speak amongst the excited rustle of the royal court. "Thirty-five lucky girls from each province will join me in the palace with the chance to win my hand and become Princess, and eventually Queen, of Illéa. All women between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one are eligible to apply, and each shall be sent a letter in the mail in the upcoming week. From there, you will have a month to send in your applications."

He paused again, fixing a smile upon his face. "I'm very happy to undertake such a role and tradition in my family, and I do look forwards to— to meeting my future wife." His falter deterred him slightly, and he scrambled to recover. "To all the women considering entering, good luck, and I hope to meet you very soon!"

Mimi paused the TV again and swivelled to face Ji-Yu, lasering her eyes into her.

"You know what I'm about to say, right?"

 _Enter_.

Ji-Yu clasped her hands together, forming a smile on her face much like how Merrick had done for his speech. "I'm flattered that you think I'm princess material, Mimi—"

" _No_ , Ji – don't discourage yourself already! You can _totally_ enter!" She draped herself against the doorway, feigning a sigh. "I'm too much of an old hag that I can't try for the cute prince's hand—"

"You're twenty-two."

"—but that doesn't mean I won't cheer on my adorable baby sister when she wins his heart."

Ji-Yu furrowed her eyebrows. "I'm twenty-one. I'm not a baby."

Hwan laughed and petted Ji-Yu's head. "You'll always be my baby, Ji-Ji."

Even Young-Sook laughed at that.

Ji-Yu pinned her sister with a glare as she stood up. "Look, even if I wanted to enter, the chances are ridiculously small. Even smaller for us, because Midston is one of the biggest provinces—"

Mimi stuck out her tongue. "Well, guess what, maths nerd? The chances are small for Midston, but they're even smaller if you don't enter. Think positively! Think boldly! Think of all the benefits you could have if you won – heck, even if you were a Selected!"

Ji-Yu deadpanned. "You're just thinking about all the clothes you could buy if I won."

Hwan laughed again. "She's got you there, Mimi."

Ji-Yu sighed, turning to her mother. "What do you think?"

Young-Sook managed a smile. "The prince is very handsome adorable."

"That's not the response I was looking for—"

" _Isn't_ he though, Mother?!" Mimi danced around the room in her giant high heels. "Think about it, Ji. How _dreamy_ would it be if he held you at night, whispering sweet nothings into your ear?"

" _Mi-Gyeong_ —" but Ji-Yu's scolding went unheard, especially since her parents snorted.

Mimi twirled around the room, stopping in front of the TV. She squished her cheeks together.

" _Oh, Ji-Yu Kim, you're so gorgeous_ ," she said in English, poorly imitating Merrick's deep voice. " _I want to marry you and make you my princess. My queen. And your beautiful, effervescent sister can come live in the palace and have a billion seamstresses make her glorious dresses every day._ "

Hwan choked on his popcorn before roaring with laughter, shortly joined by a fit of giggles in Mimi. Young-Sook smiled even though she obviously didn't have a clue what was said.

Mimi inhaled her laughter then imitated Ji-Yu, going high-pitched. " _Oh, Prince Merrick, I'm so in love with you. I love you like I love jujitsu and safety forms._ " She wiggled her eyebrows. " _Kiss me under the moonlight, Merrick. Sweep me into dreamland. Have my adorable babies._ "

She squished her cheeks again and waved her tongue in the air, making slurpy kissing noises. Young-Sook giggled, whereas Hwan howled with laughter, slapping his thighs and nearly tipping over the bucket of popcorn.

The only one completely unamused was Ji-Yu. Mimi's made up story had made her embarrassed and angry all at once, and she was sure that red had blossomed on her cheeks. "I don't sound like that!"

Mimi turned to Young-Sook. "Does Ji sound like that?"

Young-Sook blushed. "You all sound the same to me when you speak English."

"See?" Mimi grinned her evil smile. "Mother agrees with me."

"That doesn't count." Ji-Yu crossed her arms. "We don't even know if the prince is into New Asian women."

Mimi waved her off. "Well, if he's not, he's missing out. We're fabulous." She flicked her hair. "Imagine the possibilities if you were just Selected, though. You'd be famous!"

"I don't want to be famous."

Mimi pursed her lips. "Pffft, fine. You win, and I'll be your body double. I can handle the cameras and the press. You can do all the boring queen stuff."

It was all a joke to Mimi. Ji-Yu stomped her foot.

"I am _not_ entering. That's final."

Mimi's bouncy attitude died at once. "Oh, come on, Ji—"

"No. There's no point. I wouldn't be picked."

"How do you know?" Mimi shot back, puffing her cheeks. "You won't know until you try."

"I don't want to win the prince's hand. I don't have an interest." She blushed. "No matter… no matter if he's handsome adorable or not."

Mimi shoved her hand in Ji-Yu's face. "You're blushing!" She panned to their parents. "She's blushing! She's _gaga_ for him!"

"I'm not _gaga_ for him!"

Hwan's eyebrow raised. "Got you there, Ji-Ji."

Young-Sook inclined her head. "There's no harm in entering, you know."

"Yes," Mimi agreed, straightening, taking on a serious tone. "All you have to do is fill in a form – which we all know you _love_ doing – and have your picture taken. Just grin like you're about to earn your tenth dan in jujitsu and then you can go home again. Simple. Done. End of story." Something evil glinted in her eyes. "Until you're Selected, of course."

Ji-Yu saw no point, still. It was _realistic_ , if anything. The chances of being chosen were so miniscule, she'd have more chance being hit by a meteor. But Mimi would never let up, never let this opportunity go to waste, and the dread pooling in Ji-Yu's stomach told her she would have to endure this sort of talk daily until she gave in.

Since the chance _was_ so small, however… she'd fill in the form, have her picture taken, and then would never have to talk about it again. She could watch the Selection, and all the drama that came along with it, pan out in the comfort of her own home, surrounded by her loving parents.

Ji-Yu realised she could do that. She'd _never_ be picked, anyway.

Sitting back down and placing her arms on her lap, she regarded her sister. If Mimi was so desperate for Ji-Yu to put her name forwards, perhaps there was an opportunity to take advantage of here, too...

"If I enter," Ji-Yu said, thinking quickly, "you have to do all my chores… for a week."

Hwan gasped, swerving his gaze to face Mimi with anticipation. Mimi worked her jaw, her eyes narrowing at the request, and her fists clenching. The pause that bloated in the room told Ji-Yu how heavily her sister was analysing the benefits and the costs of such a deal.

"Every single one?"

"Washing, drying, cleaning, cooking, taking Mom and Dad places. All of it."

The list seemed like a physical blow to Mimi, but with unnerving calmness, she listed her head to one side. "You won't complain. Not once."

"Not once," Ji-Yu said.

"And you _won't_ withdraw, even if your name is called on the Report?"

She scoffed. "Yes, yes. Even if they call my name." _Never going to happen._

"And if you win, you get me my own personal helicopter?"

The stupidest of requests, but Ji-Yu wanted to laugh at this point. So worth the chore-free week. "Sure. I'll even have it painted pink for you."

Mimi puffed out a dramatic sigh and flicked her hair. It didn't take her long to arrive at a decision, apparently. "Ugh, _fine_ , but _you_ have to buy me gloves if I chip a nail scrubbing the dishes."

Ji-Yu grinned. Maybe diplomacy was easier than she thought, if she could strike such a bargain so heavily in her favour than Mimi's.

"Sure, sure." That wickedness grew. "Actually, speaking of chores, I have some forms for you to complete…"

* * *

 **A/N:** bah, didnt intend to post this today, but I've had a bad day, it's 1am here, and no one can tell me what to do! *skydives*

So here's Ji-Yu's first look at Merrick's Selection! And... she was so close to _not_ doing it, hahah. Hope you enjoyed it! Hwan, Young-Sook and the fabulous Mimi will appear in TSaTS... when fourteen girls become ten... ;)

Thanks for all your reviews to last chapter! I've kinda' decided to stop replying to them all (unless they have questions); I spend so much time on articulating responses when I could instead be using it to actually write or plan. Alas, I still love reviews, favourites and follows as much as I love puppies (i luuuv puppies).

I've also decided to delay the next TSaTS because I've written one glorious sentence for 35, but I'm still not satisfied with 34. Also, uni is literally killing me from the inside out. Ain't pretty. Really sorry, everyone! Thank you for your support and patience.

And thanks for reading! Next time on Select Few: a certain guard and a certain valet go to a certain work party ;). Prepare for tons of fluff, feels, and funny nicknames!

~ GWA


	5. Durante I

**Warning:** there's a few naughty words and sexual references in this one. No one drops the f-bomb or unzips their flies, don't worry. It's mostly just mentioned fleetingly. Just thought to warn you!

* * *

Officer Joseph Durante was pleased to say that he didn't get drunk. Ever.

He wasn't sure why. Perhaps his giant build, standing above most of the others at this work party. Perhaps his body was just built against it, or the alcohol went straight through him so quickly it might as well not have drunk at all.

Regardless of the _why_ s, he had since had a lingering dislike for drunken fools. Such as the guards in front of him, stripping off their jackets, attempting to break dance on the staff canteen floor.

His cast a cursory glance over the flimsy decorations. Balloons had glued themselves to the ceiling like thick clouds. Their strings dangled onto most of the guard's shoulders, and entertained the shorter maids when they tried to reach for them. Neon streamers had also been tacked to the walls, the lights were dim, and some of the canteen benches had been moved in favour of a crude dance floor.

For the break dancing.

Which was more a show of laughs than skill.

Officer O'Hannagain's body twisted on the floor, flinging his arms left and right. Besides him, Officer Tweaks accepted it as challenge, mirroring the unpractised and sluggish movements. And Durante, right on the cusp of the crowd of staff, their uniforms traded for smart-casual wear, chanting encouragement and boos into the flow of the electronic music.

Durante hadn't intended to get a front row seat, but the crowd had parted around him, and now he, unfortunately, was seeing things he didn't want to see.

Clutching his beer, Durante attempted to slip out of the crowd, and to the canteen benches. Easier done than said, for one; his bulging frame seemed to make anyone cower, and so people stepped out his way without fuss.

The air was stale, but better than the scent of O'Hannagain and Tweaks' sweat. Resisting the urge to unbutton his red shirt, Durante found an empty bench several tables away from the makeshift bar – or, as he saw it, a glorified coffee table at a house party. At least the beer was free, though they were being claimed fast.

"Jo!"

Durante's attention yanked to his right somewhere – Officer Naomi Astrauskas elbowed her way through a clique of butlers punching the air. Her short height didn't deter her, glaring at anyone who tried to stand on her toes, and she raked a hand through her short, pixie-cut black hair once released from the mass.

Despite having to look up to him, she still grinned with challenge. "Found you, finally. Someone who I know won't barf on me." Her grin widened. "Did you see those dumb bastards? O'Hannagain and Tweaks? They're having another damn break-dancing contest."

Her Australian twang was nearly indistinguishable under the music. He chuckled. "Not hard to miss them. Even though I did, very much, want to miss them."

Naomi clapped him on the back – her force was enough for him to wince. Tough as any officer in the guard. "That's enough to scar anyone for life, that is." Her laugh boomed. "Goddamn. Do you think Delacroix would fire them if he saw? I sure as hell would."

Durante snorted. "Delacroix doesn't give a shit. As long as we turn up to shift on time."

It was Naomi's turn to snort. "Fair point." She nudged him in the arm and gestured to the bar bench. "I'm grabbing a beer. You want another?"

"Eh," he said, glancing at his bottle. It was hardly halfway. "Nah. I'm okay for now."

Naomi shrugged. "Suit yourself, but I sure as hell ain't staying sober tonight."

She walked off to the bar, fiddling with the bottle opener for her beer.

Durante smiled to herself. Naomi was one of the few guards who wasn't jammed so far up her own ass. Sure, she was blunt and crude, but it was minor compared to the others. Humility was rare in the force, especially with the likes of dunces O'Hannagain, Tweaks, or Ramirez or Acketeer, who thought so highly of themselves they thought they could hail snowstorms or conjure fire.

Suddenly disinterested in the party, Durante glanced at the entrance.

Over the bobbing heads of other guests, the door opened, and in stepped—

Durante's heart nearly exploded from his chest.

Oh god. Rudy was here. _Rudy_.

And he looked _hot as hell_.

He'd somehow managed to make wearing a suit look effortless, despite, no doubt, how much he'd preened himself. His red ponytail was neatly combed back – not unusual for him, as this was his regular hairstyle – and yet it seemed as smooth as silk. His suit curved to him, a simple dark grey, but it accentuated his lithe figure, and stood out amongst the black garb of the other staff. His cool, unimpressed glance swept over the room like that of a celebrity, surveying his mass of fans.

Durante's brain worked into overdrive. _Stop staring, you moron_. He gulped his beer, trying to cool down. Why was Rudy here? Rudy'd said he wasn't particularly interested in going, and that he had a shift with Prince Roy.

But who cared? Now Rudy was here. _Here_.

Durante had been totally unprepared for this. If he had known Rudy would show up, he'd have collected his feelings. Psyched himself up. Maybe sprayed his cologne a few more times.

Rudy lingered by the entrance, his hands shoved into his jacket pocket. Still so cool, so nonchalant. He raised his shoulders, his eyes scanning.

A thump on Durante's back drew his attention back to Naomi again, who had the beer nozzle shoved into her mouth.

"Have you seen Ursa? Or Pendleton?" Her teeth chattered against the glass as she spoke. "Those douchebags still owe me a money, and I want to see if I can con it out of them when they're drunk."

"What—? Oh, er, no," said Durante. Now he was entirely distracted, and he was suddenly aware of how much sweat was running down the back of his neck. God, he hoped Rudy didn't see him like this.

"Ah, they'll show up. I—" she straightened, eyes widening, her gaze peeling to elsewhere. "Yo. He's here. Rudy's here."

Durante clenched his jaw. Naomi didn't give him the chance to reply – her gaze lifted to him, and a knowing smile blistered from her face like heating popcorn.

" _Oh_ , but you _already_ know that, don't you?" She nudged him, and her eyebrows wiggled in that obnoxious, mocking way. "Your Ru-dar is blaring."

"Shut up," Durante snapped, but he couldn't stop the stupid blush rising onto his cheeks.

"Hey, I'm just saying. If you both get wasted tonight, maybe you'll wake up tomorrow morning tangled in the bedsheets with him." He squished her cheeks together. " _Oh, Rudy, you hot stallion, let me recite you poetry before I carry you into my bedroom, where I will gently caress_ —"

Heat seized Durante in every part of his body. " _Shut up_ — _!_ "

A tap on Durante's shoulders.

Durante swivelled around.

Rudy was scowling, which, Durante had quickly learnt, was his default expression and not a personal attack, and there was some sort of drink in his hand. Similar in its amber colour to beer, but not. A nutty flavour trickled through to Durante's nose, along with the soft scent of cedar wood cologne.

 _Dammit_. Rudy smelt nice as well as _looked_ nice, too. His heart did a stupid patter, and he fought the rising blush to his cheeks.

"Have you both destroyed your livers yet?" Rudy said, by way of greeting.

Thank god, he hadn't heard Naomi.

Her smug grin didn't float away, and she gave Durante _the_ _look_ – she knew _all_ of his inner crush troubles. Luckily, she didn't comment, and instead stuck out her tongue at Rudy.

"You wish. What's up, Reindeer?"

Unfettered, Rudy shot back, "Nothing much, _Ass_ -trauskas."

Nicknames blessed by the other guards, as was customary of all the staff working here.

"Thought you were working shift this evening?" Naomi ventured, chugging some beer.

Rudy sipped his beverage, sticking out his pinkie finger. He must have decided he liked it, as he took another. "His Highness has gone out clubbing this evening. On the sly, of course." He shrugged. "I figured I may as well come down here and see why he praises the party scene so highly."

Durante had guarded Prince Roy's door a few times – and more than a few times had Roy snuck out, placing a finger to his lips, and slipped away into the night in an elusive jeans and hoodie. Incognito. For a kid at nineteen years-old, Durante had to wonder about the future state of their country.

Naomi clenched her teeth over the bottle nozzle. "The prince's just as bad as those assclowns." She jerked her thumb towards the crowd, who had slowly dissipated. It hadn't stop O'Hannagain and Tweaks though, now having a twerking contest.

"You don't want to join them, Joseph?" asked Rudy, with a glimmer in his eye.

Durante's heart flipped – as it did every time Rudy said his name. It felt so intimate, almost, like a shared dance in the moonlight.

He cleared his throat. Focus on the question. The question.

"Can't dance," he choked out eventually.

Naomi raised a manicured eyebrow, grinning smugly. _Can't dance?_ her eyes seemed to say, crinkling. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't a truth, and it certainly hadn't been an ideal answer. He was going to get an earful of laughs later.

Rudy chuckled – it was a low, dangerous sound – and sipped his drink once more. "My apologies. I tend to box all of you guard folk into one."

"That's a lousy stereotype, Reindeer," Naomi chanted. "Guess that means you must enjoy wiping Prince Roy's ass?"

Rudy spluttered out his drink – and Naomi howled with laughter. Durante had to laugh at the same time as he winced, and he was sure it was the most unattractive face he'd ever pulled. Like the break dancing, that was something he didn't want to see.

Rudy was far too distracted to notice, thankfully.

"I don't _wipe his buttocks_ , I'll have you know," Rudy said, after he collected himself. "I do have to handle his… washing, however. Dear lord, if I have to touch another pair of used undergarments…"

Naomi snickered, and Durante, too, laughed. He didn't blame Rudy for complaining whatsoever. And he was secretly pleased, at least, that he could act as an outlet for Rudy's emotions.

"Yeah, I'll just stick to the princess' door, thanks," said Naomi – her eyes pinned to Durante again, and she gestured to Rudy with them.

Durante clicked. She was going to leave them alone.

His gut writhed, and he was half-tempted to grab her arm to stop her. _No_. He couldn't handle speaking to Rudy alone. Conversations just ended with Durante being an absolute mess of flustered blushes or stammered mumbles. Or both. Or _neither_ , where he was too worked up to say anything at all.

"Ah," Naomi said with no enthusiasm. She pointed at a random bundle of dancing maids. "I think Ursa and Pendleton went that way." She mocked a salute, her gaze pressing into Durante – as if to say, _go on, you idiot_. "I'll see you later on."

She whisked herself away before either of them could argue.

And Durante was left alone with Rudy.

His heart still beat in time with the music, but he was sure it sped twice as fast than before.

 _Stupid, treacherous thing_ , he scolded to himself.

But his heart continued to thunder, as if it could burst from his chest.

Rudy snorted. "Well. Goodbye to you, too." He drank his beverage with more keenness this time, and raised an eyebrow. "Are you intending to lose yourself to drink this evening?"

Standing seemed more difficult, and it wasn't because of the alcohol.

"No. I can't get drunk," Durante rattled.

"I wouldn't have minded either way. At least you don't have any hair to hold as you unravel yourself over the toilet bowl."

"Do you?" Durante forced out.

Rudy cocked an eyebrow. "Have… hair…?"

 _Stupid, stupid_ , admonished Durante's brain.

"Not about the hair. I can see you have hair," he jabbered. "I mean, about, er, getting drunk. Do you plan to get drunk?"

The valet shrugged. "No, I don't." He brandished his plastic cup. "Having said that, this is quite delicious for alcohol."

"What is it?"

"Almond liqueur." He held up the glass. "Would you like to try some?"

Surprise coursed through him. Rudy was willing to… share drinks?

Too dumbfounded for a real sentence, Durante blabbered, "I— er—"

Rudy snatched his hand back. "Ah, sorry. That just came out. Never mind." He yanked at his shirt collar. "So… do you have an idiotic nickname?"

The world seemed to freeze around Durante, and he instinctively clenched his beer bottle. Wished he was slightly tipsy so he could breeze through this conversation now. Couldn't they go back to the drink-sharing?

"Yeah," he muttered. "I do."

"It can't be worse than _Reindeer_ ," said Rudy, laughing suddenly – nervously? "What is it?"

Durante gulped, and this time, he couldn't rein in the blossom of red all over his body.

"… Big D."

Rudy's eyes widened too, and his cheeks bloomed as fast as a rushing water from a broken dam. Immediately, he looked away.

"Ah."

It warmed Durante to see him embarrassed. Blushing Rudy was… kind of adorable.

It seemed the nickname was as much of a compliment as it was a curse. But, Durante reasoned, at least it suggested something positive about himself...?

"That is… quite the nickname," Rudy said, breaking into a laugh. "I suppose there are worse things than _Reindeer_."

Durante's mind drew a blank. "It's from my name. Durante. Big D," he blurted. "The other guards joke it's from the other thing."

He realised what he'd said.

Why _. Why?!_

The urge to smack his head against the wall was overpowering.

"But, er," Durante powered through, no end in sight. "But they're just assuming. And stuff. It's from my name. Durante."

Somehow, he figured he'd just made everything worse. Like trying to wash a dirty plate with shit.

Rudy didn't meet his eye, staring at the floor. "Well. You know what they say." His voice jumped up and down. " _To assume makes an ass out of you and me_."

Durante's laugh sounded more like a giggle from a tiny girl, it was so high-pitched. "Yep," he said quickly, hoping to cover his blunder.

Not that much could cover _that_ at this point.

Rudy coughed. "Excuse me," he said, still not meeting Durante's eye. "I'm going to refresh my drink."

When Rudy stepped away, melting into the crowd, Durante let out a long, exasperated breath. He placed the beer bottle against his forehead. It was cool, and a chill danced across his skin.

 _I am an idiot_.

He could imagine Naomi cackling if he told her the brief conversation.

He'd screwed up. So badly.

Why did he act like such a moron in front of his crush? Why was talking to Rudy any different from talking to Naomi, or the other guards? Why couldn't he be normal, or even the slightest bit desirable?

Rudy, as it turned out, was pulled into a group of dancing butlers, so Durante was left alone. Chewing on his thoughts, he dived into the crowd to find a group of friends. Anyone, to help yank his thoughts away.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

As suspected, Naomi had laughed her ass off when Durante told her.

She slapped her thighs and cried with laughter, howling so much it was a wonder she didn't summon a pack of wolves. The drink had gone to her head, now, and it was showing in her total disregard for how many people she nearly whacked unconscious with her wayward arms.

"Oh my _god_ , you _dumbass_!" she breathed between her tears. "I can't believe you said _that_!"

Durante worked his jaw. He could hardly hear her over the music, loud and pounding. An hour since the awkward conversation, and the party was still going strong.

"It just— it just came out, okay?" Durante said, burying his face in his hands. "I don't know why I said it!"

"Like hell you didn't!" Her eyebrows were tossed up and down on her pale forehead, which sparkled with sweat and oil. "Bet you wanted him to know _all_ about the size of your ginormous—"

"Hey, Big D!"

Durante flinched at the nearness of the voice, and turned – Officer O'Hannagain was standing too close to comfort, but his irises were engulfing. The alcohol was pile-driving through his system, too.

O'Han punched Durante's shoulder. "Hey, yo, Big D, my man!" he said, slurred. "I challenge you to a dance off!"

"I'm not drunk enough for that," Durante said, mocking in his tone. "And I'd kick your ass."

"You can try, you fat lug," O'Han taunted. He waved vaguely at Naomi. "Fine. Ass-crust, you wanna' go?"

Naomi darkened as if she repelled all the light in room. She shoved her drink into Durante's hand. "Bring it, Leprechaun Shit."

The crowd parted to clear an area, and Durante drifted back with the dancers like a kite caught in the wind. Luckily, he was tall enough to get a great view, no matter how far back he stood. Naomi's dancing was terrible, just like O'Han's, but the crowd roared and egged them on, crying their cheers as loud as the music.

Durante staggered out of the crowd, nearly tripping on several tiny butlers and maids, and helped himself to Naomi's beer. Not like she would be sober enough to remember she gave it to him, anyway.

A tug on his sleeve, and Durante was forcefully whirled around.

Rudy. Again.

Durante nearly lost his nerve, but he studied Rudy's face – flushed like permanent humiliation, relaxed and eased into a grin, and his eyes were huge and dreamy.

Drunk.

He snorted. " _Big D_."

Durante begged his heart to stop inciting a fire within him. "Er… _Reindeer_ ," he said.

Rudy's smirk was nearly evil in terms of scariness. "I've always hated that nickname, you know." He continued tugging on Durante's sleeve. "Big D is waaaaay better."

"That's debatable," Durante said.

"No, it's not," said Rudy. "It's like a backward compliment. I guess. No – it _is_ a compliment." His head lolled up to face Durante. "Not like Reindeer. No hope at saving that big pile of bull faeces."

Durante clamped his mouth shut, a rush of heat filling each pore of his body. Rudy had tossed his words so casually, too, but Durante latched onto it, unable to shoo the thought away. Rudy still clung to his sleeve, too, and his arm burnt hot.

He swallowed a lump of saliva that had collected in his mouth and tried to keep his eyes trained on Rudy's face, not his own arms. "Do you, er," he mumbled, "need something?"

"Do you have to get tailored suits?"

Durante blinked for a moment, but it didn't help to process the story. "I'm sorry – what?"

Rudy gently tugged at the sleeve again, swigging his almond liqueur with the other hand. "I mean, you're a bulky, tall guy. Do you have to get extra extra _extra_ large clothes? Or do you get someone to" – he waved his hands in circular motions. The drink sloshed against the cup – " _knit_ it all for you?"

Baffled, Durante tensed his shoulders. "I, er— no. I just get the biggest sizes and hope for the best."

Rudy let go, his eyes as wider as saucers suddenly. "Whoa. Didn't meant to imply anything about your weight. Sorry. That came out wrong. You're obviously not overweight, or anything. It's probably all muscle." He snorted, and it soon turned into a giggle. "God, I can't talk right now."

"I— er…" Still dumbfounded, with blood smashing in his ears, Durante leant down slightly to Rudy's height. "Are you… okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine. I'm great!" He splayed his arms suddenly, spinning on the spot. "I'm _just_ fine. I'm living on cloud nine. That was a rhyme." He snorted, slapping his hand over his nose.

So this… was _wasted_ Rudy? Durante's heart dabbled in affection once more, and he found himself warming to this unseen side of Rudy. Stupid, cynical cute.

Rudy made a finger gun. "I'm going to drink more. Because I can. No one can tell me what to do."

He stumbled, but tripped over Durante's feet, and collapsed onto the floor.

Durante gasped, kneeling down. "Oh, shit. Are you okay?"

But giggles burst from Rudy, and he rolled over to his front. "You should have asked, _how was your trip_?"

"Pffft. Jesus Christ, Rudy," Durante said, laughing despite the nerves brewing within him. "You're a goddamn mess."

"No!" Rudy cried out. "I am a perfect!"

"… A perfect _what_?"

"That's it. A perfect." He smirked. "I don't even need a noun to describe my sheer amazingness."

Durante tried not to lean too close, but he offered a hand. "Come on. Stand up."

"I refuse," Rudy said.

As if to prove his point, he laid his palms flat against the floor.

"Rudy," Durante said, taking on a stern tone. "You are lying on the floor of the cafeteria. Think about all the bodily fluids congealing beneath you right now. Think of the O'Han and Tweaks' nasty sweat—"

Rudy shot up to his feet, yelping, but he only buckled over his own feet and fell back to his knees. Butt facing up, his face squashed against the floor, Rudy started to laugh uncontrollably again.

"God. Why is standing so hard?"

Durante squashed another laugh and helped Rudy to his feet. "It's not," he said. "You're just too drunk to function right now."

"Well, thank you, Officer Durante for that stunning observation," said Rudy, slurring his words. "But I think I will now saunter with extreme precision to the fuel station, in which to further refresh my beverage."

Durante frowned. "You can barely walk."

"I would call it exaggerated striding."

"I would call it stumbling until you hit your head against something and pass out." Durante loosened his grip, allowing Rudy to stand free, but his arm still stretched outwards. "Are you sure you don't need help?"

"Officer Durante," Rudy touted, tugging on his suit collar. "I am a man of many talents. If I can juggle a prince's daily demands, not including wiping his ass, I can walk to the drinks table. Ahem."

One step.

He skittered off-balance.

Durante lurched forwards, but too late. Rudy hit the ground.

A pang of worry grappled Durante, and he knelt down again. Had Rudy passed out? He warily tapped his arm, suddenly conscious of the people around him.

"Er, Rudy?"

No movement.

Then, Rudy rolled around. His laugh ricocheted off the walls, high-pitched and manic.

"Ahahahah! Now say it!"

Durante tried not to laugh with him. If only he could get a picture right now.

"Er, how was your… trip?"

Rudy's laugh wheezed and heckled, and he had to clutch his stomach and roll to his side.

"Come on," Durante said, offering his arm again. "Get up."

This time, Rudy managed to a wobbly stand, seizing Durante's arm like it might dissolve. "Exaggerated striding is difficult."

His gaze clashed Durante's, and Durante felt a hum shatter into a song within him. Such lazy joy in that gaze that he didn't know how long he could look before the desire to reach out swamped him.

"Officer," Rudy said with firmness. "Escort me" – he hiccupped – "to my room."

It was a soft enough demand that, even if Rudy had whispered it, Durante couldn't have said no. So, blocking out the excited screaming of his brain, Durante looped one of Rudy's arms around his shoulders and half-helped, half-dragged Rudy from the canteen, disposing Naomi's drink on the way.

The light was nearly blinding, but Durante endeavoured. Since they were in the servants' wing, the servants' dorms, thankfully, were closer than the guards' dorms in the guards' barracks. They only had to manage down two small corridors before coming face-to-face with Rudy's room.

The familiar taste of Rudy's cologne hit Durante first, strong and potent. It made him weak at the knees.

The single bed was tucked into a corner, below a three-tiered bookshelf. Rudy had stuffed it with books and knick-knacks. More books were neatly stacked and exactly in line with the corners of the desk. The door to the _en suite_ bathroom was shut, but as Durante eased Rudy onto the bed, he made sure to prop it open in case Rudy was sick.

There was a wardrobe with a full-body mirror hanging on the door too, and Durante spared himself a quick glance – sweat matted his brow, and his bronze skin seemed even darker than normal. Rudy was so tiny in comparison. Though, in general, the room was smaller than Durante expected.

Rudy lay face-down over his duvet, spread-eagle, and he groaned.

"Thank you." It muffled from the sheets.

"No problem," Durante replied. Intimidation rammed itself into his throat again, and he found himself parched of anything to say. "Well… I'll leave you to it, then."

He made to leave.

Rudy braced himself on his elbows. "Officer Durante. Wait."

Durante halted by the door.

Rudy didn't look his way, and his mussed hair slipped over his shoulder. "Would you…" his voice fell to the mousiest of whispers. "Would you stay? Just for a while."

The request sent a dizzying euphoria through Durante's brain, and he again, nearly fell to his knees. _Stupid, stupid crush_. Still, his heart seemed to somersault, and he couldn't hold it back.

"Sure. If you want," he tried to say as casually as possible.

A pause.

Rudy gulped, and it was loud. "Thanks."

 _Of course_ , spoke the only rational vestige in Durante's brain, _he's only asking you to stay in case he is ill, in which case you'll have to call the servants' doctor to pardon him from service tomorrow_.

Durante shut the door with a gentle click, and sat in Rudy's only chair – far too tiny for him, and he hulked over its edge. Only now did he realise how quiet it was in the room compared to the constant drumbeat of the electronic music at the work party. It was a comfort and a pain – every breath he inhaled was accentuated in the small space, which only served to feed his self-consciousness.

The only semblance of noise was a tiny clock on Rudy's bedside table. _Tick, tock_ , it sputtered each second.

Rudy grunted, rolled over to his front, and leant against the wall. Eyes shut, he lolled his head to face up.

"Why is everything spinning?"

Durante snorted. "The Initial Effects of Alcohol: A Novel by Rudy."

Rudy laughed and dragged a hand down his face. "I've never been this drunk before." His giggles warped into a fit. "Ohdear _lord_ , this is what it's like for Roy every other freakin' day!"

 _Roy?_ Durante couldn't say he was surprised. The prince would probably forgive Rudy if he didn't turn up, given that they were as close as brothers. Something squirmed in Durante's gut, but he ignored it.

He ended up twiddling his thumbs and leaning forwards. "If you've never got drunk before, then it'll go to your head pretty quickly. You're a slight guy, as well, so it'll burn even quicker."

Rudy held up a hand. "I was tallest in my class in elementary school, I think you'll find."

"I mean, compared to me." Durante couldn't resist a teasing smile. "You're practically a toothpick."

At this, Rudy stuck out his tongue. "Toothpick and proud." He lifted his other arm before he dropped it by his side again. "Could you lift me?"

Durante pressed his lips together. "I'm a guard, not the guy from Dirty Dancing."

"Could you kick my ass?" He grinned. "Just wondering if it's wise to ever cross you."

"The answer is no. It is not wise."

"I assumed as much."

" _To assume is to make an ass out of you and me_."

Rudy paused. "Touché." He pouted. "And I don't say that often, so cherish it."

Durante laughed. "Yes. I very much cherish your disdain, Ru."

Rudy's eyebrow rose, and he smirked so hard he slid back down to his bed. "Ru?"

 _Tick, tock_. A frenzy clasped Durante. Shit. _Shit_. He'd called him Ru. That was way too personal.

"Yeah— er… sorry. Rudy."

"No," he replied. "No. Ru. That's… nice." He laughed. "Better than _Reindeer_. That's for sure."

"Is your full name Rudolf, then?" said Durante, somewhat desperate for a change of subject.

Rudy snorted. "You want to know my full name?" He sat up again, and shucked his suit jacket, tossing it onto the floor in wrinkled mess. "It's Rudolf Diederik Bezuidenhout-Leeuwenhoek."

Durante's mouth dropped open. "Rudolf… Rudolf _what now_?"

Rudy's laugh was wholesome and carefree, and Durante's heart squealed again.

"Rudolf _DEE-deh-rik Beh-ZOY-den-out LAY-wen-hook_ ," Rudy enunciated. "I know. Why my mom and dad decided to double-barrel their already horrendous surnames is still beyond me. That's why I just have everyone call me Rudy."

Durante felt resolve within him stiffen. He could try. It would look impressive.

"Rudolf Diederik Bezoydenhout-Laywenhook."

"Nope."

"Rudolf Diederik Bezoydenout-Laywenook."

"Nada."

"Rudolf—"

Rudy held up a hand. Sympathy crossed him. "Thanks for trying, but I resigned myself long ago to accepting that it'll never be said properly." He shrugged. "I guess only the legendary masters of Dutch can articulate something so utterly complicated and long-winded."

"I can get it with practice."

"That would require many hours of sitting here, listening to me tell you how badly you suck at pronunciation."

"Sure. I'll deal."

 _Tick, tock_. Durante's blood curdled, and he fixated his gaze on the bed. _Stupid, stupid brain_ —

"Sorry, I… er…" Rudy mumbled. He stared as if Durante was the only person left in the world. "Why… why do you hang out with me?"

Durante's head flew back up. "What?"

Rudy fiddled with his hands. "I'm asking you why you're here, chilling with me. Not many people would do that for me. I mean, I have lots of friends who would eat lunch with me, but not many who would chat with me like this."

"You asked me to stay."

"You could have said no." He lolled his head to one side. "Most guards don't like being near me."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Durante clamped his mouth shut. For moments, the only thing he could hear was his heartbeat, leaping and vaulting within him like an erratic animal.

 _Tell him_.

 _No_ , snapped a good majority of him.

His mind warred with decision. No one knew Durante was gay. No one, except Naomi. Right now, he intended to keep it that way.

But Rudy…

 _Tick, tock_. Durante rose slowly to his feet, calculating his answer. Filling it with wisdom he'd picked up in his short life.

"You're stereotyping all the guards, again. I promise we're not all homophobic assholes. I'm not going to stop hanging out with you just because you're gay, Rudy. It'd be stupid to lose your friendship over something like that."

Rudy's grin lifted from the depths, complacent. "Too damn right. It's the most foolish thing ever." He crossed his arms over his puffed out chest. "I obviously tether people to me with my witty and charming personality."

Durante felt his feelings puddle within him. Out of the woods. Thank god.

 _Tick, tock_. He sat back down again, leaning back. "Do you ever have anything nice to say about anyone?"

It was Rudy's turn to stunt. "Nice?"

"Yeah," said Durante – adding a challenging grin for show. "You're always so cynical. Can you say something nice about anyone?"

Rudy huffed. "I sure as hell can, thank you. I'm great."

It wasn't that Rudy wasn't capable of niceties. He was just far too distanced from such an emotion to express them. "Saying nice things about yourself doesn't count. Say something nice about…" smugness washed over him, "Prince Roy."

Rudy's nostrils flared. "Pffft. No."

Durante propped one of his legs over the other. "Well, then. I guess you failed the challenge."

"Challenge?" The competitive streak within him must have exploded like a firework, as he jumped to his feet and started to pace. "Fine. I accept." He inhaled a long breath. "Prince Roy is a very… agreeable individual."

Durante's laugh burst from his throat. "Oh, god, _that's_ your best?"

Rudy's pout and indignation only swelled. "I think that was an exceptional first attempt." He cleared his throat. "Fine. Roy has… nice nostrils."

Durante clapped, deadpan. "He might actually fire you for how pathetic that was."

Rudy pouted. His pacing became more ferocious, more consuming. "Roy would never fire me. I'm too important." His cheeks puffed. "And besides, I'm trying."

It was funny watching Rudy get so riled over something as simple as compliments, at least. Durante narrowed his eyes. "Is this… actually difficult, for you?"

"No," Rudy snapped, but it was obvious by the redness of his face that it was.

"Say something nice about Naomi, then."

He snorted. " _Ass-_ trauskas?" He waved his hands in the air. "She has a very appealing face. I think."

A laugh blurted from Durante, and he doubled-over. "You _think_? Christ, Rudy. You're crap at this."

Crossing his arms again and raising his head, Rudy pursed his lips. Embracing his inner snob, it seemed. "I am not," he defended.

"You can't just say you _think_ she has an appealing face. She either does or doesn't."

"Why not? My judgement in regards to women is terrible. That's definitely a compliment from me."

Durante's stomach hurt from laughing so hard. "Just admit: you're terrible at it."

Rudy stomped the ground for effect. "No," he said. "I refuse."

"It's not even hard."

"Oh, yeah? You do it then," Rudy barked. "Go on. See how it easy it is for you."

"Naomi is person who exuberates the qualities of a true guard, like loyalty and strength."

Rudy's grin egged him. "That was terrible."

"What? That was better than yours!"

"No, it wasn't. Admit it, Officer Durante. You _suckity-suckity-suck-suck-suck_ at being nice just as much as I do."

Durante fizzled in competition. And his mouth opened. And he didn't stop the words that tumbled from him.

"You smell really, really good today."

 _Tick_.

 _Tock_.

The room went deathly silent.

All of the laughter and amusement sucked dry from Durante like a well, replaced with horror. Seething and unbridled. Raking against his skull.

Shit. _Shit_.

Rudy just stared. Wide-eyed. A blush crawled onto his cheeks like a slow disease.

Durante made for a recovery. "I— I mean—"

"O-Oh yeah?" Rudy snapped. "Well… you have gorgeous eyes! They're— they're like freakin' raw emeralds!"

It was a blow that equally pulsed through him like a shockwave as it did soften him.

"I—"

 _Tell him_.

He clenched his hands.

"You _are_ witty and charming, and I _am_ tethered to it!"

Rudy gathered an indignant stare. "You're— you're funny too! I think you're hilarious!"

Durante couldn't feel his body anymore. It had melted under the onslaught of compliments. His heart throbbed.

"You're adorable!" he barked. "Especially when you blush!"

"You have a sexy voice!" Rudy countered.

"I bet you're a great kisser!"

"Your bare chest is goddamn delightful to look at!"

"You're ridiculously attractive!"

"I want to go out with you!"

"I want to go out with _you_!"

Rudy gulped. It was apparent he was undergoing the same processes – the blushing, the incessant pounding within his ribcage, the hypersensitivity to every touch, every taste, every scent.

"O-Oh, yeah? Well, sometimes— sometimes I see you and the other guards training shirtless, and I just think, how the _hell_ can my _weedy_ stature compete with a _platoon_ of _them_?"

It struck the ultimate blow in Durante, and he had to stand back and lean against the wall.

 _Tick_.

 _Tock_.

What the hell was going on?

This was a confession… of the strangest sorts. Compliments thrown like a barrage of insults.

Durante opened and closed his mouth. Then, once he'd recovered some use for his flailing tongue, he said, "All right, you win."

Rudy stilled. His eyes were locked onto his, as if he wouldn't back down from the challenge, no matter how raw and exposed it made him feel. "D-Damn right I win." He broke the gaze, and Durante realised Rudy was shaking. _Shaking_. "Damn right I do."

 _Compete with a platoon of guards_.

Durante's legs turned to jelly, finally, and he reclaimed the chair. Maybe their voices had carried out of the door, but he didn't care right now. No, right now… he couldn't look away from the redheaded valet with his red cheeks and red hands.

"Surprise," Durante whispered. "I… kind of have a crush on you."

 _Tick, tock_. Rudy was going through a range of emotions – a wrinkle of shock, a crease of surprise, a squirm of embarrassment. Then, after seconds, his unadulterated wide eyes and agape mouth morphed into amusement, and he collapsed onto his bed. Laughing, laughing, and laughing.

"Oh my god." His whispers permeated the room like a gentle mist. "I thought you were straight, and my stupid, stupid heart was… giving me false hope."

So… all this time… the fleeting glances, the banter, the laughs… not just Durante's wishful thinking, but a truth, twirling through the air like a ribbon in the wind?

He wanted to laugh, too.

"Surprise, again. Not straight."

Rudy lifted his head. "Bi? Pan? Indeterminate? The guards used to hark on about you with a really hot woman, I'll swear it."

Durante pressed his lips together, pushing that memory away. "That's… yeah, no. I'm not into women. Just… just guys." He dared meet his gaze. "Just… you."

Rudy sat up. "Just… just me."

 _Tick, tock_. They sat in silence for the longest time. Durante had confronted a deep fear, now, and his brain was swamped with his spiking emotions. The urge to close the space between them and just _kiss_ was overwhelming, mind numbing, dancing into his soul like a whirlpool… and he could think of nothing else.

He stood up.

Rudy put his hand onto his stomach at that same moment, suddenly wincing. Suddenly pale.

"Don't… feel… don't feel so good."

Wars had been fought, and now they were left in the aftermath.

"You're… not feeling well?"

"No. The… yelling, and pacing, and… and… _emotions_ …" he hissed. "Oh, not now, you pathetic digestion organ."

The pain was evident in his voice. Whether it was pain from his roiling stomach or pain from the rush of emotions… Durante couldn't tell.

"Do you want me to—"

Rudy suddenly was on his feet, scrambling into the bathroom – the next thing Durante could hear was retching. Hard, cold retching.

His feelings stubbed, Durante entered the bathroom and gently patted Rudy's back, hoping his presence could ease him. He had to pluck a few stray hairs from the firing range, but Rudy didn't complain – coughing and hacking over the toilet bowl.

It was a long ten minutes.

By the time Rudy was done, his body sagging against the wall, red capillaries crinkled under the layers of skin of his face, and his eyes flopped between open and closed.

"Never… doing that again…" he mumbled.

Durante hauled him to bed, careful not to jerk him around too much. He managed to peel his shoes from him and tuck him under the duvet, though a fever had struck Rudy so hard it was a wonder he wasn't complaining about the heat.

Didn't stop him grinning stupidly at the valet.

"The Hangover Effects of Alcohol: A Sequel, by Rudy Diederik Bezuidenhout-Leeuwenhoek."

Rudy closed his eyes, but a tug of his lips suggested some smugness, despite his condition. "Immune to alcohol _and_ mispronunciation? You… asshole…"

Pride flooded through Durante, and he stood up. "Yeah. You really can't be nice, can you?"

The smirk widened. "Nope."

Durante smiled to himself, grabbing a basin from the bathroom to place by the bed, and he lowered the lights.

"I'll leave you to rest up."

"Ah, wait, Offi— Joseph."

The intimacy. The softness.

He hovered by the door handle. "Yes?"

Rudy rolled over, his eyes cracking open. They seemed to swirl as soft and warm as a chocolate fondue. Inviting and sweet.

"… About… about that date…"

Giddiness twirled through him.

"Takeout Chinese on me, next Saturday. You free at eight?"

Rudy sniffled indignantly. "Excuse you. You pick my hungry ass up at six. Clear?"

Durante smiled. "You got it."

He shut the door behind him. The hallway seemed so quiet and cold without the clock. So cold, in comparison to the warmth buzzing within him.

On his way back to his own room, Durante had to resist the urge to skip.

Maybe… just maybe… alcohol wasn't so bad.

* * *

 **A/N:** I didn't intend to write 6k for these two losers, but alas... that's how the Durudy ship started to sail... and the origin of the _platoon_ comment, hahah. Drunken Rudy is on par with Roy's arrogance, isn't he? XD Ngl, I'm pretty pleased with how this turned out, so I hope you enjoyed it too!

This is the shippiest thing I've written about the TSaTS characters to date, lol, and I hope this is just the start (with Durudy, _and_ with Roy and his Selected... ;P) This is the first time I've ever written a gay relationship too, beyond minor, doesn't-really-count mentions, so I hope I have done the G in the LGBT+ community justice! Ain't got a clue who to write about next in Select Few, so any suggestions welcome.

Reviews, favourites and follows loved as much as I love the Graham Norton show! (graham plz send me tickets im desperate)

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

P.S. I probably should have mentioned this way earlier (like, first chapter, early lol), but please drink responsibly! Otherwise you'll end up like Rudy. Trust me. It ain't pretty.


	6. Gail I

Today's assignment was the most difficult Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail of the Rainbow Realms had ever been sent on.

Defeat Evil Darkness Prince Roy of the Mean Realms.

If Gail was quite honest, the mission had shocked her at first. Roy of the Mean Realms had been her arch nemesis for as long as she could remember, always prepared to ruin her kingdom's gallant balls and vibrant parades with his touch of darkness. Immense power fuelled his assaults and destruction, targeting the most innocent of civilians with his diabolical schemes.

But he had always been equal. They were two sides of the same coin, matched in every way. Though she would defeat him often – well, _all the time_ , actually – there lay enough compassion within her soul to spare him, allow him to scamper back to his castle in the Mean Realms, and recover until his next attack.

But the order, direct from Fluffy Cloud King _Appa_ and Bright Tree Forest Queen _Omma_ of Planet Illéa, had been specific. Defeat Roy. Permanently.

Gail, of course, did not disobey the wishes of her King and Queen. Her parents. As heir to the Glittery Flower Throne, she knew it was her destiny to take over from them one day, and she knew that listening and learning from them was a way she could grow into a great ruler, like them. But this was the first order she questioned.

She could see the distraught face of King _Appa_ when he'd said the words. _Defeat Roy for good, Peanut_. Queen _Omma_ , too, hadn't been able to meet anyone's eye.

Why? Prince Roy had plagued their kingdom for as long as she could remember. Gail understood mercy, but she did not understand her parents' overreaction.

She didn't argue, though, as she and her Princess Court surged into the Mean Realms on their sparkling unicorn steads. Gail fluttered her own pink, sparkly wings in apprehension. Darkness enveloped the land like permanent midnight, where the red moon cast an eerie, bloody glow onto the blackened land. Dead land. Nothing grew here, as wasted as a desert, but as cold as a tundra. Especially from up high, and especially with the unicorn wings booming through the harsh winds. Gail shivered, wrapping her cloak around herself. She held her star wand close to her chest, and the magic contained within seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat.

"Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail!"

Gail turned her head. Her right-hand woman, Lady Levinia Lefray of Labrador, flew her unicorn next to Gail's. Levinia's magical necklace gleamed from her neck, the rubies as red as the world below them.

"Yes?" Gail asked.

"The castle will have magical protections," Levinia warned. Her gaze slid to the black structure in the distance, tall and imposing. "There's no way we can destroy the barrier without being heard."

Gail clenched her jaw. She suspected as much. Evil Darkness Prince Roy of the Mean Realms was clever, if not stubborn. She figured there would be no way to slip inside discreetly and defeat him. No. This would be a long, hard-fought battle to destroy him.

Whilst she clutched her cloak and wand in one gloved hand, she gripped the reins of her unicorn with the other harder, as if it could slip from her grasp. "I know."

Levinia's eyebrows dipped on her head, and she stared at Princess Gail.

"My liege, it's just… are you sure you want to do this?"

Gail cocked her head to the side. "Why wouldn't I?"

Levinia skimmed her teeth over her bottom lip. "Their Majesties…" But she reared her unicorn back. "Never mind."

Strange behaviour from Levinia, but Gail didn't question it. Her whole court was nervous. The impending battle had rustled their unicorns, let alone their riders.

Her Princess Court formed a V-shape behind her, and they whistled through the air. Roy's castle inflated as they neared, becoming a looming structure of black glass and charcoal stone. The spires of the bony towers looked like they'd been sharpened to impale, and the windows were shaped like angry eyes, glaring at Gail and her court as she neared.

The magical barrier ballooned around the castle in a red haze, its surface like curdled milk. It would be impenetrable to the normal citizen…

But Gail had come prepared.

She pulled the unicorn's reins, and the stead reared to a stop in the sky. Her court did the same.

So now they would announce their presence.

Gail pointed her star wand at the shield.

"Lady Riley Aldaine of Atlin!" Her voice thundered with command and respect. "Launch glitter missile!"

"Of course, my fairy sparkle princess!" Riley chimed. She waved her wand and a magic red button appeared in the air. With a dramatic wave, Riley pressed it.

Out from a split in space did a ginormous missile comprised entirely of glitter burst into existence. Rainbow glitter sprinkled the land as it shot towards the castle.

It smashed into the barrier with an explosion of glitter.

The barrier dissipated immediately, and glitter coated as far as Gail's eyes could see. Even just the smallest dusting blessed the land with renewed life. Sprouts of green grass and vivid flowers sprung from the desperate earth. Trees, ponds, rivers and fruits took their first breath, filling acres of Roy's dead realm with hope and life. It reinvigorated Gail – just seeing so much beauty in a world of darkness.

The untouched area, however, was Roy's castle. Still as black as ink and as leering as a hungry beast, it remained staunchly dark and deathly. Upon closer inspection, a moat filled with bubbling, silver liquid – mercury – surrounded the castle, meant to repel intruders that snuck passed the first barrier.

But now that was gone. And they had flying unicorns.

Gail pointed her wand. "Onwards!"

The Princess Court cried in assent, and together they flew towards the castle's front entrance.

The doors were made of ebony wood, embedded deeply into the walls, but they were no match for Gail's magic. With a simple spell of love from puppies and kittens, she blasted the doors down and revealed a sharp, cold hallway with two floor mezzanines lined with rich, black velvet. There was a foggy aura of darkness, seeping from the walls like poisonous gas, but it only filled her with dread. The very castle wanted her to flee, but she would not. Her very heart was akin to steel, too strong to feel the depths of fear.

Lady Sherlock Graves of Carolina had left her stead with the rest of them, by the front doors, and though the wand on her hip suggested she was ready to fight, her taut features radiated a nervousness that would haunt her through the hallowed corridors.

"Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail," she whispered. "I think we're being watched."

Gail could feel it too. Something in the callous, stone walls, something in the eyes of demon paintings lining the walls in gold framed, something in that thick, churning fog as angry as storm at night. Despite the lavish decoration, there was death around here, as clear as a graveyard, and it peered into her soul as if she were an abyss to stare into for eternity.

Yes. They were being watched. Evil Darkness Prince Roy knew they were here.

But Gail resolved not to lose faith. They'd come this far. She had a mission to defeat Roy, or the world would suffer for it.

She clutched her wand, and gestured to her court. "Spread out. We have to find where he is. Notify me on my wand when you find him."

"Yes, my fairy sparkle princess!" the girls chorused, and they split into small groups of two and three, and treaded into the many halls and staircases of the castle. Gail would go alone, for her magic was the most powerful.

She ascended the velvet staircases onto the first mezzanine and scoured the floor. Around the corner did a writhing creature made entirely of shadow creep, its eyes hollowed out like a dug grave.

It roared once before charging towards her, scrapping at the floor with its four spindly legs. Gail pointed her wand at the creature with grim determination.

"Flower power!"

Pastel petals pelted the creature, wrapping it in a rainbow of colour, until it turned into a goat. Its true form. The goat bleated with terror and scuttled away – now was not the time to retrieve it, unfortunately. There were many other animals like that in the castle that had been turned into ghastly housekeepers and beastly guards, all to indulge Roy. When she had eliminated him, she could find the animals and free them from captivity.

Gail encountered five more of the poor creatures, turning them back into rabbits and wolves, before she found Roy's throne room.

A purple fog permanently shrouded the ceiling, and layered the floor in wisps. Black obsidian glittered harshly, entrenched in the dark walls along with mother of pearl and varying shades of quartz. Gothic chandeliers hung on thin chains, their candles glowing an eerie green, and even with the windows streaming in thick beams of light, the room seemed to inhale the darkness.

At the very back was a dais carved from the same material of the walls. Royal standards, woven with tattered fabrics, hung limply above a throne made from solid stone. Cold and unbearing.

Just like the person lounging on top.

Evil Darkness Prince Roy of the Mean Realms.

His long legs, adorned in black leather, hung over the armrest and bobbed in impatience. His outfit was much the same: dark, studded black regalia, matching the black cape oozing over the side. Black nails, black eyeliner, tanned skin. His hair was tied up in a ponytail, and it, too, seemed to dance on a draft.

Only his eyes stood out. Brown, like the chips in a cookie. Brown, like her eyes.

Looking at them made Gail imagine there was some humanity in him.

His laugh was rich and throaty, but laced with mocking.

"I was wondering when you were going to appear, Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail of the Rainbow Realms."

Gail moved her fingers across the stem of her wand, which alerted the others to her presence. They'd converge on her soon. Until then, she could stall. Maybe even defeat Roy herself.

"I am here to defeat you, Evil Darkness Prince Roy of the Mean Realms!"

Roy snorted. "Oh, please. I am the most powerful, the strongest, the most _evil_ prince ever to have lived. And you think your pathetic glitter magic will be able to stop me?" He twirled fingers as he laughed, less with the subtle tone of derision and more with it outright. "I did need something to make me laugh."

Gail steeled herself. "The power of friendship and love always trumps evil!"

"That may be the case in children's cartoons, Princess Gail," he replied, twisted so that he sat properly on his throne. "But this is not a story. This is real life."

Finally, he rose. It seemed to be a fluid motion, like he was made of the mercury boiling furiously in his moat outside. He raised his arms, and his shadow army leaked from the walls, forming bodies made from innocent animals and into mindless creatures.

They snapped their teeth and grunted into their hunger. Soulless eyes landed on Gail.

They congregated on her.

Gail raised her wand, wings flaring. "Flower power!"

Petals burst from the tip of the wand, encircling any enemy who treaded to close. Small lizards and otters were freed from the mind-control, scurrying in the fray. Gail zipped and zapped, but she could feel the weight of all this magic draining her.

Roy only cackled when she had cleared the room. "This is only the first wave."

More creatures slid from the walls like slime.

The doors behind Gail burst open then.

"Your court arrives to kick butt!" Lady Maeve Reynolds of Paloma bellowed, stepping in front of her.

Righteous cries of the _flower power_ spell launched into the air, and sooner than before were all of Roy's creatures returned to their true form. Roy actually looked affronted by the power they exuberated together, but it didn't stop the dogged set of his jaw. He summoned more shadow beasts, but no longer tiring, Gail and her Princess Court reversed each evil bewitchment.

"Fine," Roy said, once they'd cleared the room again. "It that's how this will be."

He snapped his fingers. Dark magic rolled from his fingers, and seemed to blink.

Her entire Princess Court had frozen. Lady Elise Belmont of Hansport had a handful of animals in her arms, utterly still, her mouth still frozen in an o-shape of shock. Lady Ambrosia Nichols of Sota had stretched out her arm, gesturing to the doors for escape. Lady Avianna DeLaurence of Allens had her wand stuck in the air to attempt to stop him, but too late.

Roy grinned maniacally. "Friendship and _love."_ He scoffed. "How well can you do without them?"

He fired an evil bolt of magic. Gail deflected with her wand.

"Freezing them in time won't stop their friendship and love!"

"Let's test that!"

They barraged one another with magic, good and evil. Rainbows and bolts from the void fired back and forth. Gail spun in the air, flapping her wings, as Roy teleported around the room to catch her by surprise. Holes ripped through space, peppering Gail with evil magic, whereas she would squall him with sparkles and pink beams. The room misted in a maelstrom of power and force.

Then Gail spun releasing her boldest spell yet. "Party confetti!"

Confetti assaulted him in a stream of sharp flakes. Roy stumbled back, given Gail the chance to wrap him in satin bows, trapping him. He fell to his side, grunting and struggling to break free. The spell that paused her friends fell, and they stumbled and staggered back into real time.

Lady Alisa Orlov of Whites grinned brightly. "You did it, Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail!"

They cheered with success.

So… it was time to end it. Forever.

Surrounded by her Princess Court, Gail approached Roy. He only looked up at her with loathing.

"Do it," he coaxed. "Go on. I'm waiting."

Gail hovered her wand over him.

For her kingdom. For her parents.

"Glitter showe—"

Then the doors burst open.

And in sprinted her parents.

" _Stop!"_

Gail snapped her wand back instantly. Fluffy Cloud King _Appa_ was actually sweating through his ruffled white suit, and the clouds that surrounded him like a permanent aura of goodness. The deep green dress that Bright Tree Forest Queen _Omma_ was wearing was torn at the corners, and her bark-coloured hair freed themselves from her bun.

 _Appa_ inhaled a deep breath in relief. "It's not too late."

" _Appa, Omma,"_ Gail greeted, suddenly worried. "Why are you here? Why did you stop me? I thought you wanted him… gone?"

 _Omma_ exchanged a glance with _Appa_ before speaking. "It's true, Gail. That was what we initially wanted. But… look into his eyes. What do you see?"

Gail looked. He was glaring at all of them. Brown swirled with confliction.

 _Confliction._

"I see a shred of humanity," she said.

 _Appa_ nodded. "That's because he was once… good."

Shock bled through Gail. Roy had been her nemesis since she was born. She had only assumed that he was born evil, raised evil… but if he had originally been good, then that meant something had _turned_ him bad.

And if he could be turned bad, he could be turned… good.

Gail clutched her wand tighter. This was a strange turn of events.

"So you want me to try to remove the bewitchment?"

"I _am_ right here, you know," snorted Roy.

"Yes, Gail," _Omma_ said, ignoring him, "but… that's not all we need to tell you."

"What?" she asked.

 _Appa_ paused, before taking another deep breath. "Gail, Prince Roy… he is our son. Your older brother."

The world beneath Gail's feet seemed to stir. She stared at Prince Roy with renewed shock.

He was staring back at her with disgust.

 _Brother._

She was related to her _nemesis._ That was why their eyes were so similar – they were the one in the same. And by the disgust on his face, he'd known, too.

Even her Princess Court were too gobsmacked to react to that.

Except Levinia. Her face had fallen with melancholy. _So… she knew…_

"B-But—" Gail sputtered. "But he's… _evil."_

"Led astray," _Appa_ said. "Please… your magic is the only one strong enough to break the evil enchantment." He reached for _Omma_ 's hand, and she gave it to him and squeezed. Gail's wand pulsed with their positive emotions.

Then the Princess Court followed suit, forming a circle around Gail and Roy, holding hands and grinning with pride. Magic poured into her heart, filled and spilt over in her wand.

Roy did nothing this time. He just lay on the floor, ready to accept his fate.

So Gail raised her wand over him.

"Glitter shower!"

Pink glitter exploded from the wand, showering Roy. It didn't seem to be painful, but the glitter spiralled around him, lifting him in the air, surfing through his clothes, weaving through the seams. The satin ribbons splayed around him in a dance until his entire body was surrounded by the storm of pink and red.

At once, it burst, falling to the ground in streaks and confetti. And Roy's body floated gently to the ground.

He looked… different.

No more black. He was wearing a navy suit, cut to his measurements. His hair was sheared to his sides, and polished cufflinks glittered from his wrists.

So this was… good Roy. No longer an Evil Darkness Prince of the Mean Realms. Just… Roy.

Roy's eyes opened. That humanity Gail had seen before had returned tenfold, and it guided his confused emotions as he blearily looked around.

"Wow, looks like an emo died in here."

 _Appa_ and _Omma_ launched forwards and fell on top of him in a hug.

" _Appa! Omma!"_ he cried, in surprise, before he flung his arms around them in delight. "You did it! You broke the spell!"

They sobbed, but the sheer relief, and euphoria made it worth each tear.

 _Appa_ held him at arm's length and shook her head, gesturing to Gail. "No, son. That was Gail. Your… sister."

Roy panned to her, eyes glassy with this new information. But then he grinned, extricating himself from his parents and approaching Gail.

She felt on guard. What if this was a ploy?

But instead he ruffled her hair.

"Thanks, rascal."

"Wake up, princess."

Gail blinked. Who'd said that?

She looked around at her Court, and all their faces had changed. Light brown skin, old, wrinkles with white curly hair cut closely to the scalp.

"Princess?" they all said in unison. "Wake up, dear. It's morning."

Gail jerked up.

Her bedroom enveloped her. Her bright pink covers were tangled in her grasp. Her pink curtains, the hem lined in a feathery boa, had been secured with silver braids to her bedposts, and morning sunlight streamed through the opened windows.

Lanna was sitting at the edge with a hand on her leg, gently shaking her. She smiled warmly. "Ah, good. You seemed to be dreaming."

Gail blinked. What had she been dreaming about?

Lanna stood up and stretched. "Breakfast soon. Are you excited? I hear they restocked your favourite blueberry jam."

"Yay!" Gail said, jumping out of bed.

Lanna chuckled. "Dream of anything interesting?"

Gail paused at the door to her bathroom, wracking her brain. "I can't remember!"

And Lanna laughed. "Ah, well, it couldn't have been that exciting then."

Gail grinned at her. "Nope."

And off she went to start her day.

* * *

 **A/N:** I wrote part of this drunk and part of this on a sugar-high at 11pm if that's any indication as to why this chapter is so... er... random... but I hope you enjoyed it! (For the record, the drunk-written parts were awful when I reread the next day lol)

Thanks so much for reading! I have... ideas... for the next one. *evil laugh* The new TSaTS chapter will hopefully be up this week as well!

~ GWA


	7. Barney I

Barney's favourite class was Potions, and it was only because he was sitting next to Alisa Orlov.

The Slytherins all piled in together, exhausted from their last class. Transfiguration with Professor Bhattacharya, who had thrown a test at them so suddenly that Barney was certain he'd failed for spending the first ten minutes fumbling with a quill.

But it didn't matter now. Now he had Potions with the Hufflepuffs.

With Alisa.

His heart fluttered at the thought.

"Oi," said Alex, Barney's older twin, and Barney shot back to the present. "Did you hear me?"

"Hmm? What?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "Do you want to check out the Quidditch pitch during lunch tomorrow?"

"Oh, er, no thank you."

Alex made a face.

"You were thinking about that stupid Hufflepuff, weren't you?"

The change should've been jarring, but Barney reckoned his face was easier to read than a first year spell book. He tried to school his happy grin into that neutral façade, but too late – Alex was already smirking.

"You're so pathetic, you know that?"

"Shut up," Barney said. "And she's not stupid."

As they approached the dungeon doors, Alex only gave him an eye and sauntered to his seat behind him. Lilly Carter was his partner, her Pygmy puff on her shoulder, and Barney pitied her already, since it seemed like Alex was in a particularly arrogant mood today.

Swallowing, Barney slipped into his seat and turned. Alisa entered the classroom with a frantic glint in her eye. She scampered to him with a tremoring hand, spilling her books and quills on their shared desk.

"I-I couldn't finish the essay!" she mumbled. "I didn't write a conclusion!"

Barney's gut coiled, and without hesitation, he pulled out his parchments. "Quick. Here, copy mine."

"Oh, Barney. I couldn't."

"There's still time," he insisted, sliding the parchment to her. "Go on. It's just the conclusion."

She hesitated at first, but then unfurled her quills and dipped the nib in ink, and set to work on the last few paragraphs of her essay. The scrawl of the text body was hasty and smudged like she'd been working on it ten minutes ago and didn't have time to let the ink dry.

He watched her ask she wrote, and even when she was hurrying, desperate almost, she was beautiful. Blonde hair expertly coiffed, face squeezed with determination that he knew would not fail her, lemon and cherry perfume wafting through the air with each wrinkle of her nose. It was like she were a love potion, and he was drawn to her scent, helplessly bewitched.

The classroom turned utterly silent. Then, from right behind Barney and Alisa, a voice sounded.

"Very bold of you to collude in my classroom."

Barney whipped around, nearly falling off the stool. Professor Ji-Yu glared at them, a cold obsidian burning hot and fierce.

Dread burst inside him like stars exploding in the night sky. Caught red-handed. Cheating. Colluding. Oh, Merlin's Beard, this was going to go on his record.

He'd hoped that possibly, maybe, she'd cut him some slack. She was his aunt, after all. But probably not. Though they wore the same face, Professor Ji-Yu was a crueller doppelgänger of Aunt Ji-Yu.

Alisa dropped her quill instantly. Her swallow was audible.

"P-Professor Schreave—"

"If you're going to do it, at least try to be subtle. Detention tomorrow lunchtime, for both of you."

She snatched both of their essays and went to collect the rest. Heart hammering, Barney glanced at Alex, and he just shook his head. _Stupid Hufflepuff,_ it seemed to say.

Wrong. _Stupid Slytherin,_ Barney thought.

Alisa leant forwards and whispered, "I'm really sorry."

He'd tried to help her. Failed, but tried. And that thankful smile on her face for a few moments had made it all worth his time.

"That's all right. I'm sorry we were caught."

She giggled underneath her breath, and it was the sweetest sound to grace his ears.

"If you two don't stop muttering, I'll make it two detentions," Professor Schreave called to them.

They stopped talking after that. But a shared glanced with Alisa was enough to keep Barney afloat for the rest of the day.

 **=#=#=#=**

 **=#=#=#=**

Barney had managed to avoid detention for all the years he'd been at Hogwarts.

But, knowing Alisa was there, he was actually okay – no, _excited_ – about going. It was a first, and it would probably be a last.

The Potions Dungeon was cold and cruel during lunch. The smell of burnt lacewing flies from last period permeated the stale air, and an eerie aura radiated from the green fires burning in the candelabras. As the only source of light, everything seemed to glow like neon fungi. Barney was used to creepy classrooms, since he lived in the Slytherin Dungeons, but this was a cold and destitute replica. Devoid of any goodness at all.

He wasn't surprised to see some people here. Roy, his cousin, head on the desk and napping. An idiotic Gryffindor, he usually went out of his way to annoy his mother in some bizarre attempt at rebelliousness, and of consequence he always gave up his afternoons for detention. Maeve Reynolds, a Ravenclaw – probably for that incident on the Quidditch pitch where she'd smacked a bludger and near-missed Professor Ji-Yu's head. Accidentally, allegedly, though Barney couldn't be sure. Luna was next to her, Gryffindor robes swamping her, though she looked like she couldn't believe she was in the same room as Ro, or as any of them, really.

Camilla Daugherty was there too, very out of place. She was practically Hufflepuff's best student. Why was she here? Sitting next to—?

Jealousy rolled through him. She was sitting next to _Alisa._ He'd got here too late.

Purging his disappointment, he reluctantly sat next to Roy, behind Alisa.

"Pssst," he muttered. "Alisa."

Alisa whirled around and smiled. "Oh, you made it!"

Camilla also turned and raised an eyebrow at her. "You're happy Barney's here?"

"Oh, er— no, not _happy,_ but I'm glad he's with me." Her cheeks blistered red. "N-Not _with_ me. You know what I mean."

"It's all right. I'm glad you're here too." He blushed. "Yeah, er, not here, in detention though."

Camilla exchanged a glance with him, roiling with a spark of smugness. Alex seemed to think Barney's crush on Alisa was really obvious, and Barney had protested his subtlety, but the look on Camilla's face was in agreement with his twin. Damn it.

The door croaked when Professor Ji-Yu strode inside, and its slam reverberated through the whole room.

"Get up, Roy," she said immediately, in a way that suggested this wasn't the first time he'd slept in her classroom.

Roy craned his head up, cheeks imprinted with his arm rests. He groggily glared at Barney first, recognising who had decided to sit next to him, then at his mother, but said nothing and rolled his shoulders back.

Professor Ji-Yu stood at the front of the classroom, surveying the six of them. Discontent bled from her expression like a faulty wand leaking magic.

"Maeve and Luna, move to the front, here." She gestured to the desk next to Alisa's. "And Camilla, switch places with Barney." She fixed Barney and Roy an unimpressed frown. "I don't have the patience to tolerate attempting to get you two to work together."

That… was a surprise. Camilla blinked first, then shrugged and gave Alisa and apologetic smile before hauling her stuff to Barney's seat. Barney swiped everything into his bag, too, trying to look lost, hurt at the accusation, but inside he was jumping for joy.

"I want you two at the front so I can make sure you're not _colluding,"_ Professor Ji-Yu reiterated.

Barney settled into the front seat. That was fine. She could watch all she wanted. He was going to be the perfect student, an example of why this was a one-off incident he'd do for his crush.

Alisa flashed another joyous smile at him, and he could've melted into the seat then and there. Satisfied, Professor Ji-Yu produced a set of folders from her desk and slapped them in front of every student.

"You're going to be making Dirt Removal Potions for the cleaning staff. Two each. You have the hour. Begin."

Like hive mind, everyone moved to the back of the classroom to collect ingredients, cauldrons, stirring equipment, cutlery, from the hulking shelves built into the walls. Barney and Alisa went up together, and though they weren't supposed to help one another, he did feel irresistibly good reaching the higher shelves to grab her a cauldron.

"Thank you," she whispered, blessing him with that iridescent smile.

Warmth slid between his cold hands, fuzzy and cosy. "You're welcome."

Then a crashed pealed through the room. Barney whipped around. Roy had dumped everything onto his desk in a hapless pile. Something had smashed – fish eyeballs were rolling onto Camilla's side, and she was desperately trying to swat them back over with her folder.

Professor Ji-Yu was clearly used to it, and she didn't even regard him from the papers she was marking.

"Should you fail, you'll be back here tomorrow lunch. Doing exactly the same thing. Over and over, until I have two decent potions."

Roy grumbled.

Avoiding the mess, Barney set up his cauldron and ingredients. The list of instructions was long enough to make head swirl, but he hunkered down and measured, cut, and sliced as necessary. Easier to prepare the ingredients beforehand than during the process. Sliding out his wand, he cast the words for the initial solution and added the eyeballs. The cauldron hissed with contact and flashed green before mellowing into a soft yellow. Good start.

A soft gulp. Barney glanced sideways. Alisa had added the first ingredient, too, but the colour was saffron, not banana. Too many eyeballs, it seemed. Sweat veiled her forehead, creasing with worry.

Barney knew how to solve it. She had to counteract the number of eyeballs with the number of anti-clockwise swirls of the potion in the fourth step. Not a perfect remedy, but Professor Ji-Yu was looking for a _decent_ potion, and this was as close as she'd get, now.

Glancing at Ji-Yu, he scribbled a note for Alisa on the assignment parchment. _On 4_ _th_ _step, stir twice more anti-clockwise._

She saw it – her eyes flashed with agreement – and quickly scrawled back. _You're amazing. Thank you._

The second her quill lifted, a blush smothered his entire body. _Amazing._ She'd called him _amazing._ His knees shook with a mixture of delight and affection all at once, and he nearly forget to add half the toad's tongue before the mixture turned green again.

Twenty minutes of enduring silence, and Barney's first potion was done. It had become lime green during the rest of the process, sputtering as he'd added new ingredients and hissing sparks with each new mutter of words. Mint wafted into the air, heavenly in the stale burn of the room, and he carefully poured it all into a glass bottle.

Glancing at Alisa's cauldron, her minor setback had meant her potion was just a little too yellow to be lime green, but still good enough to pass. She filled her bottle too, then, spotting Barney watching, smiled gently.

Merlin's beard, she was so beautiful.

He fumbled stupidly with his ingredients for the next few moments, trying to make a comeback.

"I think it's time to remind everyone why they're here." Ji-Yu said suddenly. She still wasn't looking up from her papers. "Barnabas. Alisa. You start."

Moment gone, he halted. "I'm sorry?"

This time, she did look up, and she was exceedingly more annoyed now. "Why are you in detention today?"

All that warmth and affection dislodged for despair. "I— I let Alisa copy my essay."

"I copied Barney's essay," followed Alisa, but the end of her tone made is sound like a question.

"Yes. You did," Ji-Yu confirmed. "And what will you never do again?"

"Let people copy my work."

"Copy people's work."

"Good," said Ji-Yu. Her voice took on a bored tone as she said, "Roy?"

His cauldron spattered behind him. Barney's back slicked with cold sweat.

Roy let out an aggravated sigh. "Didn't even turn in my essay."

"And what will you do from now on?"

"Continue not to turn in my essays."

Ji-Yu's hiss was dark and foreboding. "I don't tolerate insubordination, Roy, no matter how much you think you can hide behind your father."

His father, Merrick, happened to be headmaster of Hogwarts. Also Barney's uncle. It was a powerful connection to have, and Roy milked it for all it was worth, skiving out of everything because his much kinder, fairer headmaster of a father took pity on him.

"Whatever," he said sulkily – then, below his breath, "I'm practically prince of this school."

Ji-Yu glared at him. The conversation was far from over. She didn't press him further, however, and instead said, "Camilla?"

Camilla swallowed loudly. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Care to elaborate?" Ji-Yu said, low.

"I… was staring at the architecture and I slammed into you."

Ah. That made much more sense than Camilla forgetting to turn in her homework. Alisa cracked a smile at the words.

"And what will you learn to do from now on?"

"Watch where I'm going," she said stiffly, like she wanted to disagree.

"Maeve?" asked Ji-Yu.

"I am sorry, Professor," Maeve said, genuine contriteness loud in the eerie quiet of the classroom. "It wasn't intentional. I was just trying to stop the Quaffle going in. You hit the bludger and _whoosh,_ it goes any which way direction, even towards the people in the stands—"

"Then perhaps Professor Chi should give you further instruction about your technique," Ji-Yu groused. "Luna?"

Luna's sigh was world-weary. "I forgot my quill."

"And what will you remember next time?"

"… Quills."

"Good." Ji-Yu returned to her papers. "You may continue."

Barney mushed his lips together and reread the instructions. The fish eyeballs, again. Counting the correct number and hovering the bowl over the cauldron, this time he paused to watch Alisa do the same. Count the eyeballs correctly. Slide them into her own potion.

Again, he was caught in the act watching her. She didn't break off contact this time with a shy smile, though she was smiling, grinning nearly. Instead, she petted his hand with her own, warmth rocketing up his arm.

Then she winked.

His fingers went immediately.

He dropped every fish eyeball into the potion. And then the bowl.

His stomach dropped right into his feet just as the potion went from saffron, to lime green, to bright, furious red. It heckled and spat and boiled furiously, smoke curling off the surface, a strong stench of lava and heat sucking all the minty smells from the air.

 _That's… not good,_ he noted helpfully.

Ji-Yu's head snapped up – eyes widened. " _Get away!"_ she yelled.

Without thinking, Barney grabbed Alisa and lunged for far ground. Just as the potion exploded upwards in fury, splattering the ceiling with boiling hot solution, dumping its contents onto the papers, the desk, the floor, every utensil, setting fire to the parchments and quills.

Barney's heart lumbered to normal pace. Alisa was on top of him lengthways – he'd admittedly done a terrible job at trying to protect her – and a fistful of her robes were still in his hands. Nothing singed. Nothing charred. She quickly scrambled off him and helped him up. Even Roy, Camilla, Maeve and Luna were frozen with horror, staring at the carnage and most definitely considering how close they were to becoming fried human.

Ji-Yu checked on Barney and Alisa with a frantic gaze. "Are you all right?"

"F-Fine, Professor," said Alisa, a little shaken.

"Same," said Barney.

He was just glad Alisa was all right. For his own stupid mistake.

Ji-Yu's eyes fixed on him, apparently thinking the same thing. "You know the consequences of using too many trout eyeballs! _"_

"I-I'm sorry—" he stammered. "I-I wasn't paying attention—"

"What could you have possibly _been_ paying attention to?" she said, and Barney sealed his mouth shut like it's been closed with a Unbreakable Vow. No way was he telling his aunt about why he was staring at Alisa. How she made him weak in the joints.

After a moment of silence, Ji-Yu sighed. "You will clean this up. Then you will remake the Dirt Removal Potions every lunch for the rest of the week."

Detention for the _rest of the week?_ He protested, "B-But Professor—"

"Perhaps you will learn not to be so easily _distracted_."

He'd spent the rest of the detention using anti-corrosive powder to stop his ill-begotten potion from eating into the floor. He pressed the magicked cloth to the floor watched the red liquid soak up, and then squeezed it out into the sink with gloved hands. Alisa had been moved to the back, and, at least, her first potion was spared the carnage. She only had to remake the second.

Then the outdoor bells pealed through the classroom, and the detention was dismissed. Though knowing he'd have to return tomorrow when the others were able to finish was saddening enough as it was. He couldn't imagine the janitors were going to have fun in his stead.

Outside the classroom, Roy, Camilla, Maeve and Luna gave him funny looks before departing for their common rooms. Alisa held back, tugging his arm to stop him when the others had left.

"You saved me," she said, like it was matter-of-fact.

Damn blush. It rippled across his skin like a red sea. "I—well, I was just trying to stop you being consumed alive."

She laughed. "I think I acted more as a shield to you than you did for me."

Shame washed over him, and he tried not to let his embarrassment show.

"But…" Alisa continued, "I think it was very brave of you. To try to save me." She clasped her hands together, looking at the floor. "So thank you, my hero."

 _My… hero?_

He nearly buckled.

"Ah, it's… it's nothing."

"Don't be so modest."

Looking up at him, she did something he never expected.

She kissed him.

It was short. Sweet. Light as a cloud on his cheek. He didn't even have time to process and lean into it. But it was enough to unleash a tidal wave of affection through him, force his jelly legs to crumble him against the wall.

"My hero. I love you," she said.

He could hardly stumble through the words. "Alisa… I love you too."

" _Oi, Barney!"_

And instantly, Barney snapped awake from his daydream. Sitting at his desk with the lights dimmed, his tablet computer was about halfway through _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ – he'd wanted to watch the _Philosopher's_ version _,_ but the palace, unfortunately, only stocked the Illéan edition. Paperwork and sheets were spread thin across the surface, but in the hour or so break he'd allowed himself, he'd drawn the curtains for ambience and left himself a little bowl of hard sweets.

Bangs on the door again. " _Barnabas!"_

Barney sighed, yanking out his earphones. "What? Don't come in."

Alexander opened the door anyway. He was still dressed in his suit, pristine and cut, with a grin that meant he was about to do something horrible.

"I'm going to crash Fitz's party," he said. "Want to join?"

"I'm watching Harry Potter."

Alex snorted. "No, you were daydreaming again, weren't you?"

Damn, was he that easy to read? Barney blushed, shooing all thoughts of Hogwarts and Alisa from his head. "N-No," he said, but Alex made a face that said he didn't believe him whatsoever.

"You need to stop being salty you never received your letter," Alex coaxed, "and come crash this party with me. It'll be far more entertaining than mourning your childhood."

"Harry Potter is classic," Barney protested. "And we're not invited, so no, I don't want to go."

"The whole point of crashing is being not invited," he said, then rolled his eyes. "But fine. Enjoy your inner demons."

He shut the door. Barney was left in silence again.

He might still have been a _little_ bitter he never got to go to Hogwarts.

Then again, if he'd have gone to Hogwarts, he'd never have met Alisa Orlov. She was off-limits, as far as his head was concerned, being part of Roy's Selection, but his heart had other ideas, and it liked to torture him occasionally with wild daydreams of another life.

But it didn't matter. What he wanted was fantasy. Hogwarts _and_ Alisa.

And though the latter actually existed, he knew better than to fall for someone he could not have. He wouldn't cave to his secret desire, no matter what.

Swallowing his feelings and shoving them deep within himself, Barney replaced his earphones and played the film again.

* * *

 **A/N:** So it's the HP AU idea! Aaaaand it was all in Barney's head. But don't worry, I'm definitely going to write more of the tsts hp au because this was so much fun. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

If you're curious, Barney is Slytherin because Alex is definitely Slytherin, and Barney would've asked to be in the same house. I was sort of torn between Roy in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, but I went with Gryffindor because there were already two Puffs, and the rest of the characters' houses were creator preference.

All reviews, favourites and follows greatly appreciated, and, as always, friends, thanks for reading.

~ GWA


	8. Sherlock I

**Warning:** Spoilers! Don't read if you haven't read up to Chapter 42 in The Selection and the Spy! I'd also advise to read up to Chapter 44 as well for background knowledge, but it isn't at all necessary to understand what's going on here. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

There was something dastardly wrong when Princess Gail was crying.

Sherlock knew it. The innocent little girl didn't deserve sadness, not in the way it wailed from her quivering lips, and bawled tears down her perky, blotchy cheeks. It wasn't just little sniffles from a scratched knee, but something wholly terrible, enough to quake her whole body with pain, that was causing her distress.

Still, Sherlock hesitated, not sure how much use she could be. Gail was only nine years old, and in all honesty, Sherlock had no idea how to interact with children. They confused her, rattled her, made her feel awkward down to her bones – she liked only a pinch of disorder in her life, but children were so unpredictable and volatile that they embodied the very word chaos, too much for Sherlock to bear.

She had her older brothers, but that was just it. They were older. Anyone younger might as well have been a different species entirely.

The other girls present in the Women's Room, thankfully, responded immediately. Lilly, followed by Eulalia, were up in an instant, rushing over to wipe Gail's tears. Elise tore herself away from a book – and _that_ was something rare – and practically lunged over the furniture to her aid. Even Camilla abandoned her solitary blueprint studies to help.

Lilly signed frantically. " _What's wrong, Princess Gail?"_ translated Eulalia.

But Gail was so far gone, she hiccupped through some incoherent words before she sobbed and wailed, her cries piercing the tranquillity of the room. Was she hurt? Sherlock warily tiptoed over, studying the princess all over to make sure they were no physical injuries.

Elise brought Gail into a hug. "It's all right, Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail. Your Princess Court is here to make you feel better."

"I don't think she's hurt," muttered Cami, who had done the same as Sherlock. But her hands fawned over the girl in a motherly fashion, whereas Sherlock lingered by the group's cusp.

"Jun," Gail mumbled, the first thing Sherlock could understand.

A collective understanding blanketed the room. Of course, her brother's kidnapping. With everyone so distressed over it, including Roy and his parents, it was no wonder Gail was crying so hard. She was absorbing all the pain from around her, and finally it had reached a limit.

Lilly stroked Gail's hair, saying nothing, but smiling gently. It was all she needed to convey her kindness.

"Don't you worry, Princess," whispered Elise. "He's going to be just fine."

Gail blubbered. "He's hurt."

Cami knelt to Gail's side. "He'll get better. He's the strong leader of the Mean Realms, remember?"

Gail sniffled, somewhat placated by the words. But tears were still rolling down her cheeks. This wasn't enough. Sherlock wracked her brain – something, anything to comfort the princess, and have her on her way back to her fairy tale dream world again.

Lilly straightened, waved her hands to grab everyone's attention, and made a motion with her arms. It looked like she was hitting a ball.

Eulalia cocked her head and signed. Lilly nodded.

"Hockey," said the translator. She turned to the rest of the girls. "How about a game of hockey?" Lilly signed with more fervour, and Eulalia said, " _We could play in the hallway where it's not cold?"_

"That's a great idea," said Cami. She stood and offered a hand to Princess Gail. "Do you want to play hockey with us, Your Highness?"

Gail looked at Cami's hand. For a moment, Sherlock thought the child would bat it away like an unwanted toy, but Gail warily slid her fingers into Cami's. Elise took the other side, chanting excitedly about the indoor hockey game. Lilly and Eulalia followed.

Sherlock hesitated again. Shouldn't they get Lanna? Or the king and queen? Was indoor hockey even allowed? It didn't seem like anyone was thinking about the logistics of a potential game. With no one refuting the idea, and Sherlock refusing to be the one to ruin the princess' already awful day, she exited behind them and slipped away to grab Gail's foam hockey equipment from one of the palace supply closets.

When she returned, the girls were still trying to convince Gail to cheer up. Elise caught Sherlock in the corner of her eye.

"Oh, good one, Sher!" she sang. "Let me help you."

 _I'm the outsider._ Sherlock pried a smile from deep within and helped set up the indoor hockey, ignoring the unimpressed looks from the guards. She wasn't very good talking to kids, that much was certain, but she could help the others cheer her up. Make it easier for them.

There was only room for one net at the end of the hallway. When everyone had gathered their hockey sticks and rolled shoulders to warm up, Elise gestured to the whole group.

"Okay, Your Highness. You can pick your team."

The tears were drying. A good sign this was working. Still, she sniffled, glancing between the girls apprehensively. She pointed stiffly at Elise. "Can you be the goalkeeper?"

Elise practically gushed. "Oh, thank you, Fairy Sparkle Princess Gail! I would be honoured to protect the goal for you! Who else do you want on your team?"

Lilly and Cami looked so hopeful. But instead, Gail bit her lip, her outstretched finger tilting towards Sherlock.

"Can you be on my team, too?" she said. "Please?" she added timidly.

Sherlock baulked. She and the princess had exchanged very few words together. Still, she plucked up a happy smile. "I'd be _hockey_ to be on your team, Your Most Royal Highness."

Cami snorted. Elise rolled her eyes. Eulalia translated the joke, and even Lilly just rubbed her head in a, _really?_ fashion. Gail scrunched her nose, but turned away before Sherlock could see whether she'd processed the joke.

With the teams assembled, and Eulalia assuming the goal position for Lilly and Cami's side, the Selected girls prepared to battle. No referees, just pure game.

Gail had the ball. She dropped it onto the ground with a soft thud. But she didn't move. Normally, she would excitedly thwack it outwards with reckless abandon, chase after anyone who dared tackle it off her squealing and yelling. But not today.

Lilly pretended to approach her for the tackle. She jutted her stick forwards, looking like she wanted to take the ball from Gail, but Gail started breathing hard, making to look like she wanted to cry again.

"It's okay, Your Highness," Elise called. "You can do this!"

Lilly gently smiled again, encouraging her to hit the ball. Gail putted it sideways, and Lilly pretended to spin out of control, making a croaked "Ahhhh!" noise as she did.

Lacking her usual oomph, Gail pattered forwards, nearly running into Cami.

"Ooooh," Cami crooned, with a bright smile. "I might just steal the ball from you!" Her eyes fixed onto Sherlock – and Sherlock geared into motion.

She ran parallel to them both. "Er, Princess Gail!" she cried, trying to inject some form of pity into her voice. "Pass to me!"

Gail looked at Sherlock. Her eyes glistened, and it tore a piece from Sherlock's heart. Even if their interaction felt awkward and forced, Sherlock practiced her best encouraging smile, one worthy of a summoned knight in Princess Gail's Princess Court.

"Pass to me," she said again.

Gail swallowed thickly, and hit the ball over. It wobbled across the carpet until it was by Sherlock's hockey stick.

Cami feigned shock. "Oh no! I've been bested by the best!"

It elicited a tiny giggle from Gail. Some success! Gail pointed to the goal. "Run!"

Sherlock danced the ball between the stick, mock-fighting off Cami, who was coming at her from every side. Elise, open, gestured wildly to Sherlock from the other side, and Sherlock aimed to pass the ball.

She raised the stick above her head. Then swung.

The toe nearly sailed into Gail's head.

"Whoa!" White hot fear ran through Sherlock's chest in that second. Foam as it was, the impact would've caused some serious damage. "I-I'm sorry!"

The ball flew to Elise's grip.

But Gail turned to Sherlock. Cheeks still puffed, she smiled. "You shouldn't have the stick over waist height."

Sherlock blinked. Getting schooled by a nine-year-old. Right. Red burned at her cheeks. "Yes, you're right. I have to… _stick_ to the rules."

Another little giggle. More progress. Someone groaned – probably Cami.

"Score, Elise, score!" Sherlock yelled.

Elise hopped up. "Right!" She hit the ball, and it banged into the net despite Eulalia's pitiful attempt to guard it.

"Yay," Gail said, her most enthusiastic yet. Sherlock could practically see it – her cheer gauge, creeping up ever slowly by the second.

Elise whooped. "Yahoo! Hashtag Team Gail!"

"Nice one," said Sherlock.

Eulalia huffed. "Shall we switch over?"

The changeover meant they were a player down. With Elise in goal, it was Sherlock and Gail versus Lilly, Eulalia and Cami. Still, props of being the adorable little princess whose brother they were all trying to win, Gail started with the ball again.

She parried it between the toe of her stick. Gail was skilled despite her age, probably from all the times she liked to play. She could do it professionally one day, Sherlock imagined, if she kept it up. Sherlock tried to stay on her toes as the princess dodged attempts from Lilly and Eulalia to intercept.

"Sherlock!" she barked. "I'm going to pass to you!"

"Okay!" Sherlock acknowledged. Sweat was starting to form on her brow. This was way more stressful than she thought a little game of hockey could be.

Cami roared down the carpet, but Gail thwacked the ball – it rolled through Cami's legs to Sherlock.

The three girls descended upon her. Sticks bashed together in determined fury, grunts and gripes filled the air, and though Sherlock tried to wrest power back in her favour, Eulalia stole the ball.

"No!" Sherlock cried.

Eulalia was away, nearing the goal. But Gail was swift like a current of wind, easily pilfering the ball again. She dodged more faux-attempts by Cami and Lilly to take it back.

Then she came near Sherlock.

Then she stopped. The ball halted.

Sherlock gulped. "Princess Gail?"

She sniffled – tears were rolling down her cheeks again. "Jun isn't having fun."

Sherlock's heart shrivelled. No, no. They were so close to a breakthrough. Gail's lips quivered, on verge of letting way to another round of sobs.

She gulped. Sherlock didn't want to let her discomfort prevent the princess' happiness. Awkwardness or no, she had to help Princess Gail feel better.

Scrounging far in her head, she knelt to the princess' eye level.

"Hey now," she scrambled through the speech, almost too fast for even her to understand. "Don't be sad… because sad backwards is _das,_ and _das_ not good."

Gail froze. Her little hands clutched the hockey stick a little tighter.

Then she dropped it and giggled.

Giggles turned to laughs, and laughs turned to giant guffaws, coming deep within her chest. Even a little wheeze.

" _Das_ not good!" she cried, her mouth stretched so far from grinning. " _Das_ not good! That's funny!"

Even Cami was laughing. "That was your worst one yet!"

But it had worked.

Gail pressed a hand to her stomach. Watching her laugh was infectious, and soon, it was bubbling a whimsy amusement deep within Sherlock, too. She laughed, and they were laughing, together, like the kidnapping was a thing of the distant past. Non-existent in their shard of the universe.

Cami slipped in and stole the ball. Sherlock fumbled with the stick, tried to go after her, but the sheer hilarity of Gail's laughter had paralysed her limbs.

"Oh my god!" Elise pointed at the princess, a smile erupting onto her lips. "She's— she's so cute when she laughs!"

Gail swiped at her hair. "I know."

That set Elise off. Cami didn't even need to pass the ball to Lilly and Eulalia, and she scored a goal nearly tripping over her own feet. Everyone was too far gone by now, and even the opposing team became a fit on uncontrollable giggles.

A face popped around the corner. Lanna, Gail's childminder.

"There she is!" she said, hustling over quickly.

Gail was a puddle of laughs now. She reached up for Lanna to hold her. " _Das_ not good!"

"It's not good that I couldn't find you, little peanut!" she said, scolding but still soft. "But you were all laughing so loudly that I found you instantly."

Sherlock rubbed the back of her neck. Well, aside from the entertainment value, at least the joke had been a useful beacon for their location.

Lanna hoisted Gail into her arms – she noticed the dried tears, and thumbed fussily over her cheeks. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," said Gail. She was still sniffling, but there was a bright smile on her face. "We played hockey to feel better!"

"I can see that." She passed a critical gaze over the Selected. "Should you have been playing hockey indoors?"

Lilly blanched and looked away. Elise whistled. Cami winced.

Only Sherlock grinned. "We wanted to help cheer Her Highness up." She kicked the hockey ball. "And we had a _ball_ doing it."

Another round of groans and winces from the girls. Gail squee-laughed again.

Lanna jostled her. "Well, let's get you fed and cleaned up, peanut. Then we can go see your brother, okay? He's nearly ready for visitors."

Gail stilled. "Can I wear my fairy sparkle princess dress?"

"Of course you can."

She allowed herself to be carried away, but before she rounded the corner, she beamed a bright, pearly smile to Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled a silly face just as she disappeared.

Today was a hard day for Princess Gail, but if Sherlock had made it even a little more bearable, she would face the awkwardness every time.

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's a rare thing: I wrote, edited and decided to post this entirely within the last couple of hours. If there are any errors, my bad. This was just supposed to be short, fun and fluffy piece about Gail's feelings during Roy's kidnapping, and I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanks to **thesparklingjewel** for Sherlock Graves, our punbearable funeral director and narrator here! Couldn't resist writing this one, since Sherlock has a trait rather unique to her: she's uncomfortable around children. I definitely held onto this knowledge when writing her character, and I wanted that to come to head here.

As always, favourites, follows and reviews are all appreciated. 55 should come Sunday (but I've discovered the most minor, yet most game-breaking plot hole that I must figure out before I can continue, lol. It's so silly; I wish I could just tell you what it is, but because I can't count, I have to shift entire scenes around, ugh.) If not, it'll come *waves hands vaguely* SOON.

Any characters you'd like to see next time on Select Few?

~ GWA


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